


Riddles

by Markovia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied Incest, Multi, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia





	1. Chapter 1

It was raining the morning of the Funeral. It was raining, the church was stuffy, his shirt was overly starched and Thomas Riddle Jr. was bored beyond belief. The pastor, priest, whatever he was, droned on terribly and the sound of weeping and sniffling had long been irritating him. He shifted his legs around, kicking the small woven pillow that sat at his feet.

'LOVE THY LORD', the pillow read. Riddle smirked, nearly rolling his eyes at the ridiculous sentiment. There was little he loved and a Muggle God certainly wasn't on the list. His eyes slid to the woman sat beside him. Another thing he could never bring himself to love.

His Mother's black-cloaked shoulders shook with sobs as tears rolled down her pale, sculpted cheeks. The pathetic creature must have sensed his gazed and turned her head to look at him. Merope Riddle was an attractive older woman, graceful in her age, with large, clear blue eyes and silver-blonde curls, but today; puffed-up red eyes, shaking lips and mascara-stained cheeks rather ruined her elegance. She offered him a small, sad smile, lifted a black-gloved hand and placed it upon his knee. Tom wrenched it away immediately, returning her caring look with a scowl, that slowly rose into a harsh smirk. The smile disappeared from Merope's face as the pair of them stared into each other's eyes. His glare conveyed insolence, anger - her's reflected only fear.

"We therefore commit Thomas Riddle's body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."

* * *

 

_One month later._

"Here we are, m'love," the cab driver said, tapping lightly on the pane of glass that separated the two sections of the motorcar.

Hermione grunted slightly, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Do excuse me, Sir, I must have dropped off."

"That's quite alright love, it was rather a long way."

"Yes, it is getting rather late - dark already!" she said, looking out into the night.

It was intimidating, being brought to a new area, with little idea of who she was meeting or what to expect. A new job had been the incentive to travel across the country and leave her tiny flat in Diagon Alley. Before, she had been tutoring students during the school holidays, whilst juggling research for her first book - an extensive piece of work on the History of Magic. Tutoring students was gratifying, but it barely paid the rent. Then, out of the blue, her former Headmaster from Hogwarts, Professor Albus Dumbledore, sent her a message - a Mother was looking for a Governess for her seventeen-year-old son. The role required her to tutor him during the day, in an array of subjects, whilst the evenings and weekends belonged to her. Though she herself was only twenty-years-old, she had plenty of experience teaching and a great deal of knowledge in all magical subjects. The job included a room, board and, according to her old Professor, one of the largest private libraries in Britain. It all seemed too good to be true and, had Dumbledore not vouched for the validity, she would have remained in London.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked the cabbie as she pulled on her coat, hat and scarf.

"No worries, it's already been covered," he replied, sending her a big smile.

"Oh!" she cried, smiling widely. "Well, that's wonderful."

Just as she began to open the door, the cabbie stopped her. "Just one word, love, before you leave."

"Yes?"

"This house and the family that own it. They're pretty well known around here for being, well, a little odd..." his voice was hushed, as if he were worried about being overheard.

"Odd, how?" Hermione replied. She guessed the Muggle village had heard rumour of strange happenings in the magical household. It was nice to get their view of her new employers, in fact, it had been her idea to travel by car as opposed to Floo for the very reason of getting to know the layout of her surroundings. However, due to the darkness and the twisting, turning roads she little idea whether or not there were buildings nearby, or countryside.

"Well, there's been a couple of...accidents up there. People disappearing and the like. It's always been owned by the same family but recently - and I'm talking in the last year - three of 'em have died. There was the two old folks and then, only a month ago, the Master of the 'ouse. Just the Mistress and Master left now. Seems odd, is all, none of the original family left - and they own half the valley. It's like the wife and boy moved in and a sickness spread, or something."

Hermione blinked a couple of times, uncertain of what the man was trying to insinuate. "I'm sure it's nothing like that, Sir."

"Just be careful, love. Wouldn't like to hear that a nice girl like you has gone missing," he said, giving her another crinkled smile, though his bespectacled eyes were filled with worry. "And - sorry I'll let you go in a second - watch out for the boy. He's got a bit of a temper on him according to the girls in the village. Never liked to play nice."

Hermione smiled and nodded at him, slinging her satchel over her shoulder and picking up her small suitcase. "I'll make sure to keep him at arm's length, don't you worry!"

"That's my girl! Well, if you ever get lonely up in that big old house and fancy an outing, take a walk down to the village. Lots of nice types around, all very welcoming. I tend to be in The King's Arms Pub on the weekends, if you need a friendly face to talk to. Name's Bernard Jennings, by the way."

"Hermione Granger," she replied, grinning at him. "And I certainly will! Have a lovely evening, Mr Jennings."

"Bernard, please. Best of luck, remember what I said. Now, it's up that driveway there, in between those bollards. Quite a driveway, sorry I can't get any closer."

With that, she unlocked the door and stepped out into the night. Much to her chagrin it was pouring with rain and her wand was packed away in her bag. She had magically enhanced her suitcase so that it could hold all of her belongings, so there was no chance of finding it in the dark. As Bernard's cab pulled away, Hermione turned to face the lights that framed the driveway. Rain pelted against her skin as she turned her face to look at the entrance to the house. The wrought-iron gate was intricately designed to look like a writhing mass of snakes that framed the words 'RIDDLE MANOR'.

In the darkness of the night it was near impossible to see any detail to the hulking black mass that was Riddle Manor, but even from the vague, shadowy outline, she could tell that it was gargantuan. It was a short walk from the gate to the porch but the sheer volume of rain falling from the sky caused Hermione to be soaked to the skin by the time she arrived. Eager to get into the warmth of the house, she pressed her finger to the doorbell. A loud shriek echoed inside, yet, even after five minutes, no-one came to greet her. The family were definitely aware that she was arriving this evening, they had to be in! Eventually, Hermione banged her fist against the shiny black door and found that it swung open upon impact.

Tentatively, she entered the hallway, finding it well lit and delightfully warm. After gently closing the door behind her, she walked further into the cavernous room, mouth agape as she took in the incredible features. Two sweeping staircases lined the room, leading to a large landing that held three, dark green doors. To her left and right were two other rooms, one which looked like a sitting room, the other a large, open ballroom. The hallways stretched on and on in both directions, so far that she could only see darkness at either end. Straight in front of her was a small set of armchairs and numerous tables that were decorated with vases of lilies, whose scent lingered heavily in the air. The floor was a black and white chequered marble, and the majority of the walls were a deep emerald green, though a number were simply a shining mahogany - each was lined with paintings. The most prominent was that placed above the lilies, a large portrait of a very handsome man, who looked to be in his forties. Unlike the others, this picture was not magical and the gentleman remained motionless, silent. It was an odd addition to the magical household, but nevertheless, it certainly stood out due to the quality of the artwork and the presence of the figure within.

The house was, in short, beautiful. As she took in the sight of her new abode, she failed to notice the set of eyes that watched her from the darkness of the landing.

"Hello?" she called, now stood in the centre of the room. No reply - simply the sound of her own voice echoing throughout the halls. Nervously, she turned to look back at the entrance door. Perhaps she should leave, head to the village for the night and return in the morning?

"Hello?"

Hermione nearly jumped from her skin at the sound of another voice. She span back around to see a tall figure standing on the landing. It was a young man, impeccably dressed in a dark jumper and dress trousers. His hair was dark, neatly parted and his skin was a pale alabaster, sickly almost, though she couldn't deny he was a handsome specimen. He was leaning against the wooden bannister, bent at the waist with one hand stuck under his chin, as if he had been observing her for some time.

"Goodness! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," she said, placing her suitcase down on the ground and removing her gloves. "Um, I'm looking for the owner's of this house."

"You'd be looking at one of them, Miss-?" the man replied, pushing himself off the bannister. He began to walk down the left staircase, never taking his eyes from her. He wore an odd expression - a friendly smile, with a strangely cold gaze.

"Granger. Hermione Granger - I've just been employed as a Governess here." As she spoke she removed her sopping wet hat and placed it into her handbag, patting down her hair. The young man stood in front of her now, a little closer than she would have liked, in fact, his presence was a little unnerving. As she mentioned her new position within the household, the man's smile seemed to drop and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

"I see. My Mother's newest idea," he said, coolly. "I must inform you that you won't be needed for as long as she's told you." Hermione raised an eyebrow. He accentuated ever reference to his Mother with a harsh tone and his upper lip curled slightly as he continued to speak. "She wanted me to be privately tutored, you see, rather than going back to Hogwarts. But I doubt there is anything you can teach me that I don't already know."

Both her eyebrows raised at this remark. "I can assure you that I am very capable - Master Riddle, I take it?"

"Quite," he replied, quietly, as a smirk pulled at one side of his lips. "Tom, if you'd prefer."

"Tom," she repeated, nodding. "May I speak with your Mother?"

"Not tonight," he said, brusquely. "She'll be out of action tonight - far too much wine with dinner. But it is late and I suppose it would be rude of me to cast you out into the rain."

"Quite rude, yes," she said, abruptly, unable to stop herself. Tom's eyes glinted at her sharp remark and that unnerving, toothy smile appeared again. He bent to pick up her suitcase and jerked his head in the direction of the right staircase.

"Do follow me, Miss Granger, I will show you to your quarters. My Mother has had a set of rooms prepared for you, I'm sure that you will find everything to be of an impeccable standard," he eyed her wet coat and mussed hair momentarily before heading across the hall. "If you would like to dry yourself off and set your bags down first, I would be happy to bring a nightcap up to your room. I tend to stay up rather late reading anyway, so we could chat a little more before you meet my Mother in the morning at breakfast."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "I'm afraid I am very tired from my long journey, Tom. Would it be okay if I get some sleep?"

The man stopped just as he placed his foot on the first stair, turning to face her. He looked rather irritated, or rather, angered by her refusal, but nodded.

"Of course," he held up her suitcase and gestured for her to continue up the stairs. "Follow me."

They entered the third door to the right at the top of the stairs, then continued down a long, candle-lit corridor before arriving at a green door which bore a plaque marked 'MISS . H. GRANGER'. Tom halted and reached for the doorknob, once again gesturing her into the room. She rather disliked the way he controlled her movements, but at this early stage assumed the man was nervous about meeting new people. It certainly didn't seem like the Riddles had many staff or companions to speak to.

Tom stayed outside of the threshold, placing her suitcase just inside of the door. He stood up to his full height, a good number of inches above her, and smiled, eyes narrowing ever-so slightly.

"You will meet Mother in the morning, in the breakfast room at nine-thirty. There is a mapped layout of the house on the desk in your sitting room, but I'm sure you will have no trouble finding it," he said. "I wouldn't unpack entirely, Miss Granger. I have informed my Mother that I do not need tutoring in any subject and, despite her pestering, I'm sure upon your initial assessment tomorrow afternoon, you will see that too."

Hermione blinked, astonished at the young man's self-assurance. "Everybody needs a little help, Master Riddle, even those with great knowledge."

"We shall see," he replied. He cocked his head and smirked again, looking down at the ground and then back up at her. "You know, no-one has referred to me as 'Master Riddle' in some time. I like it, use that instead."

With that, Tom turned on his heel and closed the door to her room behind him. She heard the faint tapping of his footsteps, fading into the distance. As she picked up her suitcase and made her way into her quarters, her thoughts couldn't help but linger on the strange, petulant boy she was to live with and his mysterious Mother.


	2. Chapter 2

_It spills from his Father's skull as he strikes him again with the three-pronged candelabra that sits atop the grand piano._

_Mrs Riddle screams as she watches her son's body hits the floor, pieces of gore splattering the face of her grandson as he raises the metal instrument again. Tom Riddle Jr. looks down at his Father's body with disdain, ignoring the screeching of his grandparents._

_"You are no Father of mine," he hisses, kneeling, then raising the candelabra once more. He slams it down against the man's face, the face so similar to his own. Grunting with exertion, he crushes the jaw first, then the nose, then works until there is little left of Tom Riddle Sr. but a pulp, a mush of blood and flesh. He would be the only one with this face, the name of Riddle, there would be no connection to this - this Muggle, anymore._

_He stands, looking to the terrified older couple. Behind them sits a large, ornate mirror, in which he sees the reflection of himself. His white school shirt is saturated with red. His face, his hands, are covered with the remains of his Father. An errant drop of blood drips from his hair onto his outstretched hand._

_A vile grin spreads over his face and he lets the candelabra clatter to the wooden floor of the drawing room._

_"Avada Kedavra," he whispers, coolly. The curse bounces, hitting, killing them both. Their bodies drop to the floor, quiet but for the rustling of their clothes._

_Tom lets out a breath, surveying the mess that surrounds him. The mirror reflects a boy with wild eyes, hands stained with life. He feels more powerful that ever before, he feels majestic, he-_

_"Mother?"_

* * *

Sunlight trickled in from the partially open window next to the bed. Warming rays fell upon the heavy duvet that covered her body, so she stretched her arms above her head to enjoy the feeling. As her head turned to one side, she caught sight of the alarm clock on her bedside table.

_9:18AM. Blast!_

She only had a little time left to get washed and dressed before meeting the lady of the house. Throwing the covers back, Hermione dashed out of the four poster and across the shining wooden floor to the bathroom. She had explored the large quarters the previous evening and, my, they were beautiful. A kitchentte, a bedroom, a sitting room - it was open plan, apart from the bathroom and decorated in deep purples and greens. It was comfortable, through a little too polished for her liking. After a short shower, she sprinted back into the main room to find her clothes, wand and tutorial books. Dropping the green towel from around her chest and onto the bed.

As she pulled on a pair of knickers, a soft coughing sound behind her caught her attention. When she turned, it shocked her to see Tom Riddle, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. She shrieked, snatching the towel from the bed to cover her nudity.

"Master Riddle, what on Earth?" she panted, stepping back so the back of her legs were touching the edge of the bed.

"Apologies, Miss Granger," he said, though she noticed that he never averted his eyes. "I was simply seeing if you would like to be escorted to the breakfast room."

"Um, well, yes - thank you," she replied, tucking the towel underneath her armpits. "Would you mind stepping outside for just a couple of minutes, so that I might get changed?"

Instead of doing as she said, the man simply turned to look at the wall. Hermione gritted her teeth together in annoyance - remaining calm and polite around this boy was exceptionally difficult. She pulled on her clothes as quickly as possible, slipped on her shoes and headed to the door. Tom swiveled to face her as she stood next to him.

"Let us go and meet my Mother," he said, offering his arm to her. Hermione returned his smile and placed her hand on his forearm. As they left her quarters and began to make their way to the breakfast room, a few thoughts reeled through Hermione's mind.

Firstly, the house brought back memories of a film she had once seen. Not the decor, so much as the maze of long, straight corridors. Images of a child cycling up and down hallways, of twins in blue...a shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Secondly, she noted Tom's attire. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, with a white shirt - not the clothing of a man who was simply going to breakfast in his own home. Hermione supposed this was usual for such an affluent family, but it would certainly take some getting used to. Tom seemed to notice her staring and smiled down at her, cocking an eyebrow.

"It is a very pleasant morning outside. Far nicer than the rain last night. Perhaps after breakfast you would like to take a look around the grounds?" he asked, as they began to descend the main staircase.

"That would be lovely," she replied, looking away from him. She hadn't simply been tired last night - there was definitely something off about the boy. Whether it was the way his smile didn't fit with his angelic looks, or the pompous way he held himself, she hadn't warmed to him yet.

"Of course it will be lovely. There's acres of it to enjoy." He steered her around a corner before finally releasing her from his grip. He stared at the doors ahead of them, his face hardening into a scowl. His next words were clipped, nearly-snarled, "Well, let's go and meet Mummy."

Before she had time to fully register his vicious tone, the doors to the breakfast room opened smoothly, by themselves.

"Did you do that?" she asked, slightly shocked. Unspoken magic was a difficult talent to master, let alone wandless magic. A young man of seventeen would hardly have such mastery - she herself had only learnt the skill a year ago and she was far more advanced than her older peers. The man didn't reply, but his signature smirk rose on one side.

The breakfast room was far more pleasant than she expected. The walls were painted a pale yellow colour, which accentuated the general lightness of the place. Four floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, letting the sunlight of the morning illuminate the highly polished wooden floors. The furniture, a long dining table and a dozen matching chairs, was ornate and similar to the style of the rest of the Manor.

A woman was sat at the end of the table. She was dressed in a black lace dress, fitted around the waist and flaring at the hips, with matching shoes. Hermione couldn't help but be envious of the woman's beauty - it was obvious where Tom got his striking features. Her skin was as pale as his, her eyes as blue and though her hair was a light silver, the silky curls matched his. Upon their entrance, the woman's eyes lit up and a genuine smile rose on her reddened lips. A smile - Hermione noted - not a smirk. There was something truly lovely about her smile, something honest and genuine. Instantly Hermione knew she would take a liking to her.

"My dear!" she cooed, in a soft and rather high-pitched tone. She stood from her chair and offered a pale hand. "Welcome, welcome. Do come and sit, sit, sit!"

Hermione grinned and walked further into the room ahead of Tom. She took the woman's offered hand to shake and was surprised by how delicate it was, loosening her grip in fear of cracking it. Upon closer inspection, the woman's beauty was not quite as perfect as she had initially thought. Though flawless, her skin was stretched too tightly over her bones, giving her a wasted look. Something about her upright posture and the tension that held her muscles made the woman appear nervous, twitchy almost. Her blonde hair was drenched in brittle silver and her make-up recalled the glamour of years-gone-by.

"Good morning, my name is Hermione Granger," she said, removing her hand and placing them behind her.

"She knows that, she was the one that hired you," came Tom's hard voice from across the table. He had placed himself in the seat to his Mother's left hand side, opposite Hermione.

"Tom!" the woman chided. Hermione could tell that there was little force to her warning, it seemed almost for show. "Now please, my dear, take a seat."

Hermione nodded and sat down to her right, ignoring Tom's hard stare. "Thank you."

"You are quite welcome, Hermione - I do hope you don't mind if I call you Hermione? I am Lady Merope Riddle, though, please, just Merope is fine. Never been fond of the title, have I Tommy?"

"No, Mother, you have not," he replied, as he reached into his suit jacket to retrieve a silver cigarette

case. After plucking a black skinned cigarette from the case, he snapped it shut and drew the tube up between his lips.

"Tom, must you smoke at the breakfast table?" Merope chastised, leaning toward her son with a smile.

Instead of heeding her words, he simply stared her down and lit the cigarette with a click of his fingers. Again, Hermione noted the brilliant use of wandless magic. Perhaps he was right, maybe he didn't need a tutor?

"So, Hermione," Merope began, drawing back her attention. "Thank you for agreeing to be Tom's tutor, Albus tells us that you are an exceptional young witch."

"He is too kind," she replied, flushing slightly. Merope smiled kindly and flicked her wand twice in the air. Food blossomed on the plates in front of the trio and their glasses filled with what appeared to be orange juice.

"Please, dig in. And you are far too modest, Hermione. Albus said you were the most accomplished student Hogwarts has ever had," Merope said, leaning forward to pick up a bowl of red grapes. Tom let out a breath of smoke at that second, seemingly pointed at his Mother's last sentence. "Now, I am so pleased that you are available to tutor Tom. I wished for him to have a more...one-on-one style of teaching. Much more detailed and tailored, don't you think?"

"Certainly," Hermione replied. There was something odd about Merope's reasoning, though she couldn't quite place what it was. Perhaps Tom was bullied at school? Perhaps he was expelled? Or maybe he just didn't like Hogwarts?

"Excellent, excellent. I was hoping that you might begin tomorrow, after doing an assessment with Tom today. Just to see which subjects need a little more work. After that, three classes a day, with weekends off? You can do as you please in your spare time, feel free to use anything in the house and explore the grounds. We have a wonderful library, a swimming pool and Tom has a lovely games room in his quarters. And I believe three hundred galleons a week will suffice?"

Hermione looked at Tom briefly, only to find him staring back at her from over the top of his fluted glass. "That all sounds wonderful, Merope. Thank you so much for the opportunity, I hope to live up to your expectation."

"My expectation," Tom retorted, stubbing his cigarette out on his empty breakfast plate. Hermione's mouth fell open slightly in shock at his rudeness. "I'm going up to my study, Mother. Have her come up after lunch."

"Of course, darling," Merope called, as her son left the room.

Silence fell between the two women as Tom's footsteps echoed through the marble halls. Hermione looked back at Merope and noted the strange expression on her face. It was one of utter adoration, though her eyes were crinkled, as if pained.

"Lady Riddle, might I ask you a question?" Hermione began, sipping on her orange juice.

"Of course, my dear, ask away," Merope replied, focusing her attention back on Hermione.

"From the very few displays of magic I've seen from Tom thus far, well, I'm not sure he needs a tutor. He seems to be very well educated, he can already perform wandless and wordless magic. At seventeen that is beyond advanced. As much as I would love to act as his educator, I don't want you to have to pay me for no reason."

Merope set down her glass and looked down at her plate. "Miss Hermione, I must confess there is a little more to this role than mere academics. Tom needs pastoral care, a mentor in the ways of the outside world, I suppose."

"A friend?"

The older woman smiled, sadly. "Yes. Tom has had a fairly isolated home life, thanks to the location of our home and the nature of our status. At Hogwarts, he had a few close friends, but I do not think they were the best influence on him. He...changed, when he got there."

"May I ask how?" Hermione asked, gently. Truly, she couldn't imagine Tom having any friends, he didn't seem like the type.

"Before, well, he was my little boy. He loved me so much - played with me, exercised his magic with me, an oh. Do you know, he used to play the piano for me and Thomas every evening? A boy's best friend should be his Mother - sadly, that is not the case," she laughed lightly, though her face quickly dropped into upset.

"So, you wish for me to spend time with him outside of the classroom?"

"If that is not too much to ask. It's nothing sordid, I assure you. He simply needs a little companionship now and then. To keep him -" she paused, as if lost for words. She continued, though Hermione knew the word she was looking for was ' _sane'._ "Anyway, do you think you would be up to it?"

"Of course."

Merope sighed and laced her hands together in front of her. "Truly, Hermione. Since my Thomas died a month ago, I want to keep Tom as close as I can. I worry about him."

Hermione paused momentarily. "I am sorry for your loss, Lady Riddle. It must be hard to lose a loved one."

"It is," the older woman replied, quietly. Her beautiful eyes creased up, as if she was trying to hold back tears. But, maintaining her composure, she simply took a deep breath and looked back at Hermione. "But we should not linger on the bad, should we? Worry ages the skin so."

"How has Tom been since...?"

"Tom-" Merope looked straight ahead of her, as if checking to see that her son were not standing in the doorway. "Tom and his Father were never close. But I believe he is affected, in his own way."

"I see," Hermione said, musing over her answer. "Well, I suppose I had better begin writing Tom's assessment, mustn't leave it too late."

"No, no, of course, you are right. There are quite a few studies around the house, Hermione, do feel free to use any of them," Merope smiled, leaning back in her chair. She fixed Hermione with a serious stare for a moment. "I must only ask that you do not enter Tom's quarters - the middle door on the landing - without his permission. He gets awfully irritable if I disturb his studies."

_Of course he does._ "Of course not, everyone is entitled to their privacy."

"Quite," she laughed. She had a lovely laugh, a light chime that warmed the house. Merope stood, the train of her gown falling gracefully to the floor. "Now Miss Hermione, I shall leave you to your activities. Good luck."

"Thank you, Lady Riddle," she replied, watching as the woman in black faded from sight into the maze of hallways. "I'm going to need it."

After breakfast had finished, Merope headed from the house, toward the family chapel that lay at the end of the eastern grounds. She had never had a faith, but her husband and his family had been devoted Christians and she felt it proper to bury them according to their God's wishes. Thomas Riddle Snr. had been a loving husband, even after she told him of her magical heritage, though his parents had never truly accepted her. Her family were long dead, though she knew her friends disapproved of her husband's Muggle blood. But for Merope, no-one else mattered but Thomas.

Years of wedded bliss, a home and then - a son. The Riddle's couldn't have been more overjoyed to bring another life into their perfect home. But, the boy never seemed to return their happiness and as he aged, he grew in distance. Merope loved him, no matter what he did. Even when he smashed the family china because Thomas was too busy to take him to the village market. When he dug his nails so hard into her arm that they left marks for weeks. Even when he began leaving dead birds on his bedroom floor, when left their dog under the Cruciatus curse for hours and threw tantrums when he was refused anything. When he began calling her a whore for marrying a 'filthy, foul, Muggle'. She still loved him, so dearly.

But, now?

Her eyes fell on her husband's grave. She had kept it pristine, covered it in flowers that never perished under a magical charm.

* * *

 

_The house was quiet when she arrived home. It was dark outside, so she was surprised to see no lights were on. She waved her wand and the chandelier burst into life._

_"Mother?"_

_She turned to see her son, emerging from the darkened ballroom._

_"Tommy, what-" the words fell from her lips as Tom stepped into the light of the hallway. "Oh god, Tom."_

_He was covered in blood. His shirt was saturated, it dripped from his hair, his clenched fists, it was smeared over his face-_

_Merope hurried forward, pushing past her son, eyes adjusting to the dark of the ballroom. She already knew what had happened, she needed to see it, to make sure she wasn't dreaming all of this. And there, on the floor, three crumpled bodies laying in a dark pool._

_"Someone must have burgled the house and killed them."_

_She turned to Tom, her mind blank. For a moment, she didn't believe he was her son and she lunged forward, grabbing his shoulders in her hands. She shoved him back against the wall, drawing her wand and pressing it to his throat in one smooth motion._

_"What have you done Tom? What in God's name have you done?"_

_Tom's eyes bulged at his Mother's reaction. "Mother, please, don't I-"_

_"You're sick Tom, what have you done? I - cannot," she could barely get the words out for the angry panting that racked her chest._

_"Mother, please," Tom begged, quietly. He was a powerful wizard, yes, but he was aware of where that power came from._

_Merope blinked away the tears that were fogging her eyes and there, then, she saw him again. Her frightened, sweet little boy. Her son. Her one and only. Slowly, she lowered her wand to her side, still shaking violently. Tom ran to her and buried his face in her shoulder, weeping noisily. Raising her arms to wrap them around his back, she pulled him closer and ran a hand through his bloody curls. Both of them sank to their knees, Merope shuddering, Tom curling closer into her bosom._

_"Tommy, shh. Mummy's here."_

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he repeated, over and over, in a pathetic whisper._

_The blood on his shirt was still warm._

_"I've got you."_

She would always love her son. Even though she still remembered the feeling of his smirk against her skin as he wept into her chest.


	3. Chapter 3

" _My boy. My darling, darling boy. From the moment you were born, you were always the priority. Oh my darling. You look so much like your Father."_

_Tom snuffed his cigarette out on the bedside table, making sure to miss the ashtray and burn straight into the antique wood. He pushed himself off the bed, eyes sliding to the woman lying between the sheets. Their matching blue eyes met briefly, before Tom turned away and grabbed his shirt from the floor._

" _You look so much like a whore, Mother."_

* * *

 

 

Hermione's hand shook slightly as she rapped quietly on the door to Tom's quarters. She needed to get over this odd fear of the boy if she were to tutor him correctly. _Deep breath._ The door swung opened, yet there was no-one behind it.

"Tom? May I-?" she called, not wishing to cross the threshold without his permission.

"Just come in," he shouted back, irritation obvious in his tone.

Hermione bit her tongue to stop herself from spitting venom at his insolence. Instead, she remained calm, smoothed her skirt and headed further into his room. Well, _rooms._ A large lounge was the first thing she encountered, the furthest wall of which was split into three separate cells. One seemed to contain a bedroom, the other a study-cum-games room and the final cell was blocked out of sight by a heavy wooden door - rather strange, considering the openness of the others. Much like the rest of the house, the furniture was ornate, ancient and dark in colour. The carpets were a deep, luxurious emerald and bizarre artwork hung from the walls. But, most unlike the tidiness of the rest of the house were the stacks and stacks of books that covered almost every surface; the floor, the bed, the chairs...

As her eyes caught sight of them her heart leapt. Perhaps he wasn't such a bad person, he just wasn't used to strangers being in his home. Surely someone with such a thirst for knowledge - someone like her - couldn't be as awful as she had thought. With a smile on her face, she peered around the towers of archaic literature, unable to locate him.

"Tom? Where are you?"

"Here."

She jumped, hearing his voice from behind her. Placing her hand against her rapidly beating heart, she turned to see him grinning. Without noticing she drew her wand and held it, raised, at her side.

"Must you do that?" she cried, letting out a deep breath.

"Do what?" Tom chuckled.

"Sneak up on me!"

The man cocked his head and moved forward, past Hermione. On the way, he gently touched the end of her raised wand, pushing it down against her hip. "You seem prepared for confrontation, Miss Granger. You've drawn your wand on me twice now."

Her mouth fell open slightly and she drew back when his cold fingers brushed her hand.

"My apologies, Tom. Now, shall w-"

"I thought I told you last night. Master Riddle is preferable," he snapped, flinging himself down onto the leather sofa in the centre of the room.

Hermione grit her teeth together in irritation. "Master Riddle, sorry."

She could tell he was enjoying himself, by the way he spread his arms across the back of the sofa, the way he raised his eyebrows expectantly and _smirked._ He was the picture of carelessness.

"So, shall we get this over with, Miss Granger?" he drawled, plucking a cigarette from his top pocket.

Before he could raise it to his lips, it was dashed to the ground in front of him. Hermione crossed her arms in front of her and smiled in satisfaction at the way his face fell.

"No smoking during tutorial time," she stated, taking a few steps toward him to readdress the balance between them. She was the superior here, no matter what his social status said. She raised one hand and a sheet of paper fluttered from thin air. "Now, I've prepared a list of spells to test your abilities. Your Mother's original advertisement mentioned that you did not need a tutor in Potions or Herbology but for Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I thought we might throw some History of Magic and Muggle Studies in there als-"

"Muggle Studies?" he questioned, rising to his feet. "Why on Earth would I need to learn such useless information?"

"Useless?" she remarked. "Not in this world, Master Riddle. Do not forget we live amongst Muggles everyday and it is necessary to know them."

"Hardly. Muggles aren't worthy to live alongside us. What is the point of them?" He didn't speak with an angry tone, but rather more matter-of-factly, which shocked her.

"Enough, Master Riddle. It has been included in my lesson plan and it will remain there." Tom's jaw tightened in anger and his body tensed, as if ready to launch himself at her. "Now, here. The spells. One after the other, show me which ones you can confidently do."

He snatched the paper from between her fingers and ran his eyes down the list. "There isn't a single one here I couldn't do with my hands tied behind my back."

"Prove it."

"Fine."

True to his word, one after the other, without pause, Tom tore through the list of spells with ease. The majority he barely lifted his wand for. Hermione watched, astounded at the youth's ability, it was brilliant - _he was brilliant._ It was not until the final spell that he halted, pursing his lips together.

"There, all done," he said, handing the paper back to her. "I think that proves your presence here is unnecessary."

Hermione shook her head and pointed back to the paper. "Not quite, Master Riddle. You still have yet to complete this, here, the Patronus Charm."

"A rather pointless spell."

"Not when faced with a Dementor. Now, please. Show me," she replied.

Tom grunted and moved a few steps back from her, raising his wand. She could tell from his furrowed brow that he was concentrating, trying to wordlessly cast. A few trickles of silver fell from his wand at first, then disappeared. Again he raised his wand, this time attempting to make more precise motions. Nothing.

"Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum."

"Master Riddle, if you cannot-"

"Do not interrupt!" he snapped, glaring at her. "Expecto Patronum!"

"You need to think of a fond memory - something that fills you with happiness."

Still, nothing came. Angrily, Tom waved his wand to the side and a large stack of books fell to the floor next to her. Hermione jumped, avoiding another stack that came crashing down behind her. The young man seemed furious at his inability to cast the charm, red flushing his pale cheeks.

"Master Riddle, please!" she protested, halting a rather nasty curse that was headed toward another stack. "If you cannot produce a Patronus charm, it doesn't matter. We'll work on it."

"It's useless. There are other ways to get rid of a Dementor, I don't need it," he remarked, throwing himself back down onto the sofa.

Hermione gawped at him slightly, astounded by his petulance. She shoved another piece of paper towards him and, after seeing that he was not going to reach out and take it, placed it on the table next to the sofa.

"The reading list for this week. I expect it to be completed by the time we begin our first lesson," she said, sharply. There was simply no point in speaking with any tone besides blunt with Tom.

"Yes, fine," he replied, waving his hand at her. Hermione felt her cheeks redden with irritation.

"Master Riddle, there is no need to act so arrogantly. I'm here for your benefit and your behaviour so far has been very unbecoming-"

"Unbecoming?" Tom chuckled, pushing himself to his feet. He was a good few inches taller than her, despite being years younger, but it was not his height that intimidated her. It was the unsettling gaze he fixed her with, and the bitter sense of magic pervading the air. "I didn't ask for you to be here, Miss Granger. My Mother was the one who forced you into this household."

Hermione frowned. "I-"

He smiled at her, eyes flicking up and down her body. "You should not have come here."

Feeling uncomfortable with his closeness, Hermione took a step back. "Well, I did. And I'm not leaving."

"If you want to stay, be my guest. But do not think that I wish to learn from you -if you could teach me anything," he snarled. "We'll have two hours a week, no more. I have other studies to conduct, as do you."

"But-"

"That's your only choice. Take it, or get out."

Hermione grit her teeth together and clenched her fists, trying desperately not to curse him. "As you wish, Tom."

"Good," he replied, seemingly pleased with her obedience. "I'll see you at dinner."

She didn't bother answering him, instead turning on her heel and stomping out of his quarters.

After her meeting with Tom and a brief moment cursing her pillow, picturing her new tutee's face, Hermione decided to explore the Manor. It was a bizarre place, so sprawling and immense, that it undoubtedly held a myriad of curiosities and mysteries - thus, she was eager to explore.

On her travels up and down the never-ending corridors, she noticed how quiet it was. For such an ancient place, she had imagined creaks and groans around every corner, but nothing moved. Nothing ever made a sound; not the wind through the trees outside, nor the natural settling of the house. It unnerved her - just like everything else in Riddle Manor.

There were strange additions to the house that made no sense. Hallways turned into dead ends, doorways appeared and disappeared, seemingly at their own discretion, and, after two hours of wandering, she found herself quite lost.

"Oh, bollocks," she mumbled, turning to look back down the corridor she had just entered. The door had vanished, leaving her no choice but to press on. This part of the house looked ancient, untouched for many years if the cobwebs were anything to go by. A thick layer of dust lined the wooden floor, causing her to leave footprints as she walked. There were four doors on either side of her - each led to an empty room, cold and undisturbed. The door at the end of the hallway opened up into another room, with no further exits in sight. Hermione turned around desperately, letting out a sigh. She was trapped.

She looked back into the last room, noticing that it was not empty, like the others on the corridor.

"Lumos," she whispered, casting a dull glow into the darkness of the cavernous room. It was bare, with the familiar wooden floorboards and crumbling red walls that were the decor of the corridor, but in the centre stood a glass trophy cabinet, inside which glittered a number of strange items. She approached carefully, eyes darting from side to side to check the darkened corners on her periphery. The hairs of her neck stood on end and she felt a thin sheen of sweat cover her face - this was not a good place, there was something terribly perturbing that she couldn't place. It wasn't the darkness, or the silence but the cold, miserable feeling that seemed to emanate from the glass cabinet and seep into her skin. Pressure seemed to encapsulate her fluttering heart, never allowing it to calm, no matter how many deep breaths she took, or times she tried to reassure herself.

Hermione moved her wand closer to the glass, crouching slightly to get a better view of the inside. On the top shelf, placed delicately in the centre, was a small ring. There was a dark, square stone in the centre, held in place by a simple golden band. To the left of the ring, was a locket. Again, the item was gold, with tiny green jewels encrusted on the locket casing in the shape of an 'S'. It might have been beautiful once, but now the gold had dulled, presumably with age and mis-care, and the jewels were grayed by the dust that had settled upon them, it was little more than a trinket.

But, there was something... _odd_ about them. Hermione squinted, trying to work out if she had seen them before during her studies, if they were magical items which-

"Hermione?"

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her name. She tripped as she tried to turn to face the speaker and fell, landing on her knees with a yelp.

"Oh my dear, are you alright?" the voice asked. She felt a small hand touch her shoulder and raised her head to see Merope Riddle standing above her with a concerned look on her face. Immediately she flushed and began to clamber to her feet.

"Yes, I'm fi-," Hermione trailed off, eyes widening as she looked around her. This certainly wasn't the room she had just been standing in. There were bright candles floating about her head, the floor was sparkling and polished, the deep burgundy walls were rich and fresh. There was furniture.

"Hermione?" Merope asked, softly, moving to look into the girl's eyes.

Hermione shook her head and smiled back at the older woman, chuckling slightly in disbelief. "I'm sorry, I just seem to - well, um. I don't think I'm in the same room I fell over in."

Merope let out a bubbling laugh. "The Manor has a mind of its own, Hermione. When magic moved into this house, it seems that the walls could not hold it. Even before I married Tom Senior, it had something mystical about it. I myself find places I never knew existed - and I've lived here for goodness knows how many years."

"It certainly is...unique," Hermione replied, with an exhausted sigh.

"Come sit with me, Hermione. Let's get you some food and a glass of something. You must have been famished," Merope said, ushering her to a set of armchairs at her side.

They sat opposite one another, Merope lounging with her feet tucked under her and Hermione perched nervously on the edge of her seat. Her hands still shook slightly as she accepted a glass of red wine from the other woman, who gave her a sympathetic smile. A smorgasbord of meats and cheeses appeared on the table, to which Merope immediately dug into.

Hermione returned her smile with fondness. She really was a lovely woman, the complete opposite to her son. She was friendly, welcoming, he, cold and arrogant. She ate, he seemingly never did. The similarities between them were few, but obvious. Their beauty, the graceful way they held themselves, a result of their social status no doubt, and their magical abilities. Hermione had yet to see Merope perform anything out of the ordinary bounds of magic, but both she and her son had the unmistakable aura of power about them.

"So, how did things go this morning with Tom?" she asked, plucking a long strip of cheese from the board and placing it into her mouth. "Good heavens that is wonderful, do try it!"

"Thank you," Hermione said. "It was interesting. He seems a little...unwilling to try at the moment. But I - oh my, that is lovely, what is that? But I think he'll come around. There are definitely spots he could work on."

"Bavarian Smoked, I believe. The Manchego is to die for - especially with a piece of Serrano wrapped around it. Heavenly!" Merope chuckled, before taking a large sip of wine. "Tom is a stubborn boy. Always has been. But, I believe you will match him just fine, Hermione."

"He has so much power for his age."

"Yes. And that is what worries me," Merope replied, slowly. She glanced down at her wine and began to swirl the deep red liquid around the glass. "He needs direction."

Hermione nodded, raising a piece of cheddar to her lips. She placed it back onto the edge of plate and sat back into her armchair.

"Merope, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, my dear, anything."

"The room I was in before I was transported here - there was this old cabinet which had a - uh - a ring and a sort of necklace inside? I was wondering if you knew what they were?"

Merope nodded, looking back up at Hermione. "They are family heirlooms," she began, sitting up and placing her wine onto the table. "My Father's ring. Ghastly looking thing, I never cared for it. Or my Father for that matter. But, I suppose it holds some sort of sentimental value - Tom Senior always liked it, never took the thing off, until -" she paused, looking down sadly. "And the necklace, that is an ancient gift passed down to me from my Mother. She told me it once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Really? That's incredible!" Hermione stammered, inching closer to Merope.

"The Gaunt family - that is my half of the family - are his ancestors. I don't know if I ever believed it, but they always insisted so sincerely. Mother said the women had always been the holders of that locket," she explained, with a distant look. "She said it drove the men insane."

"If you don't mind my asking, why do you keep them locked away in that room? Such items are-"

"I don't like them. Whenever I looked at them my blood ran cold. Dreadful things have happened in this family, Hermione. I do not wish to have them displayed."

"I understand - I got the same feeling."

"Quite. And can you imagine if I told Tom we were Slytherin's ancestors? His ego needs no further boost!"

Hermione chuckled, sipping her wine. She felt more relaxed sitting there with Merope than she had since entering Riddle Manor.

"Now, let us move on from such sour business. Tell me all about your studies, I've been interested to hear about them ever since Albus mentioned you."

"Are you sure?" Hermione smiled. "I'm a terrible rambler."

"You and me both, my dear. I could bore you with details of my next book in the future, if you so wished."

"Really?" she replied, eyes lighting up. "I didn't know you were writing a new book."

"Oh yes, it's been in the works for as long as I can remember."

"What is it about, if it's not a secret?"

"Not at all. It's based around the Dark Arts - the spells involved, creatures, objects, significant people in it's history - and of course, how to combat such things."

"Fascinating. Well, I'd love to pick your brains as my studies dip into a few similar areas."

The two women settled in the drawing room for hours, excitedly exchanging ideas, debating and discussing their work. They found another, just like them, for the first time and, through the haze of red wine and cigarettes, failed to notice the boy who had been listening from the shadows of the next room.


	4. Chapter 4

" _You look so much like a whore, Mother."_

Tom awoke with a start, fists curling into his bedsheets. He pushed himself into a sitting position, back against the headboard, and ran a shaking hand through his hair, now damp from the sweat that clung to his skin. It was the same dream, the one that had plagued him for years now. The images terrified him - he did not think of his Mother in _that_ way, he despised her, thought of her as a pathetic creature. Yet nearly every week these sordid images appeared before him so clearly it were as if he were simply recalling a memory.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his temples with his palms. A set of long, deep breaths calmed his racing heart and the visions slowly began to fade from his mind. He threw the heavy duvet off away from his body and stripped off the white t-shirt he wore to bed, throwing the damp cloth to the floor. With a flick of his fingers, a glass of water hovered in front of him, which he immediately grabbed and gulped down thirstily.

These dreams had gotten worse, more intense, since the creation of his second horcrux. He peered sideways at the unassuming leather diary that sat on his bedside table - surely this could not be the source of the problem? He'd been careful, read about all the dangers and side-effects that came with splitting one's soul, and dreams of screwing his own Mother had not been on the list. He settled the empty glass down on the table next to the diary, before turning away and pulling the thick duvet back over his shoulders.

If he was going to have sex dreams, they could at least have been about his new tutor. He smirked into his pillow as new images filled his head. When she had snapped during their first tutorial, a strange arousal came over him. No-one had spoken back to him like that, not for many years, and it excited him. He would have loved to shred her clothes at that moment, bend her over his desk and fuck her until she knew who she was talking to. _The Master of Riddle Manor, the Heir of Slytherin, the most powerful wizard the world would ever know._

As he pictured her, naked before him, he moved a hand down over his chest, then stomach and began to stroke himself slowly. _He barely took the time to look at her body, he didn't need to. She felt soft, she moaned as he clawed at the skin of her back and that was enough. Her hair felt coarse and crisp as he pulled it backwards, jerking her back against his torso. As he pushed into her, she shuddered and arched, her insides tightening around him -_

* * *

 

A month had passed since her first evening of discussion with Merope and now, Hermione met with the Riddle matriarch more than she saw her son. Not that she minded, he still treated her abhorrently, whilst Merope offered her a wealth of knowledge that proved integral to her studies. She was a fascinating character, with experience and intellect that was unrivaled - even her Professors at Hogwarts could not have gone into the intricate details of magic in the way she did. The Dark Arts were her passion, that much was obvious.

The previous evening she had explained the merits of darkness, something Hermione had never considered.

"Certainly, there are spells that should never be touched - the Unforgivable Curses, for example. But, there are those out there who will use them and there is little Light magic that will counteract them."

"But surely darkness should be fought with light?"

"In some cases, yes. Dementors cannot be defeated, truly defeated, without a strain of the Patronus charm. But they are creatures of pure darkness. Humans are not, due to the manner in which they are created, truly dark. Thus, fighting darkness with darkness is often the best manner in which to handle things."

Hermione sipped thoughtfully at her drink - an Old Fashioned, which she had recently learnt was Merope's favourite beverage and she herself had grown quite fond of - and furrowed her brow. "I had never considered that."

"Tell me, Hermione. How would you kill a man who has consumed unicorn blood?"

"I've no idea, I thought it gave one eternal life."

"Not exactly. What do you define as 'life'?"

"I suppose I would define life as a condition of being, the existence of an individual."

"One with the ability to grow, perform functional activity and change. If one drinks unicorn blood, it will keep you in a state of existence, yes, but you are never truly _alive_ ," Merope replied, with a smile. "You cannot grow, you cannot change. You will stay in the same state as at the point of consumption. Unicorn blood is pure, it is Light - in order to kill such a being, something so out of touch with what we define as 'living', one would need Dark magic."

"And how would I do that?"

"Unicorn blood is pure, it should not be attached to any soul that is dark - and we must assume here that the person consuming said blood is one of dark inclination, who else would slay such a lovely creature - thus, in order to tear the purity away, you would need to sever the connection. _Velox fractura,_ is the incantation."

"But that-"

"Is a dark spell. Usually used to drive a person insane - to split their mind in two. But when applied to a being that has consumed unicorn blood, it will tear the pure life from their blood."

"Killing them," Hermione finished, nodding.

Merope smiled at her and leaned back into her armchair. "Quite."

They sat in thoughtful silence for a moment before footsteps from the hall drew their attention away.

Tom entered the room, curtly nodding at Hermione before turning to Merope. He held out one hand, in which sat a small package, wrapped in brown paper.

"Mother, something has arrived for you."

"How awfully late for mail!" the woman said, getting to her feet. She approached her son, who passed the package to her. He looked back at Hermione and gave her a strained smile.

"May I join you for a drink?"

"Of course, darling," Merope said, happily. She clicked her fingers and another Old Fashioned appeared, hovering in front of Tom. He grabbed the glass from the air and took the seat on the sofa next to Hermione. She shuffled closer to the arm, a little uncomfortable with his closeness.

"Have you had a pleasant evening, Miss Granger?" he asked, reclining in his seat. He plucked two cigarettes from his top pocket, offering one to her. She accepted, despite her skepticism. Why was Tom acting so pleasantly toward her? This was a first.

"Excellent, thank you. And yourself?" she replied, placing the tube between her lips. He stared at the end for a brief moment and it burst into flame. Hermione very nearly rolled her eyes at his display of magic, but held herself back, taking a long drag to calm to flame.

"I had a pleasant day, thank you Hermione," he chuckled, letting the smoke curl out of his mouth before breathing it back into his nose.

"Any more work on the Patronus?"

Tom smiled darkly and let out a long stream of smoke. "Not yet, but I think I have pinned down the memory that should do it."

"Which is?"

"The first time I saw Hogwar-'

A loud crash interrupted him. They both turned to see Merope, still standing with the now-open package in her hands, glass shattered around her feet.

"Merope? Are you alright?" Hermione asked, rushing to the woman's side. Tom remained where he was, but settled his glass on the table in order to face them.

"Y-yes, my dear. Sorry, just-" the older woman replied. Her words were hushed, her stare distant and vacant. She clasped her hands around the brown paper, concealing the contents of the package. Hermione glimpsed it for a second, but confused her. "It's nothing. I jus- I need to retire for the evening."

Merope turned away from Hermione and Tom, clutching the package close to her chest. "Goodnight, darlings."

"Goodnight Merope," Hermione called, watching the woman's silhouette fade as she disappeared into the darkness of the ballroom.

For a moment, Hermione stared vacantly into the shadows. The item looked like a tusk, or the tooth of some gargantuan creature - what could have perturbed Merope so much about it?

"I wouldn't worry about her, Hermione. She has odd moment now and then. Has done ever since my Father passed."

She turned around, to see Tom standing close behind her. "I see. Sorry, I just-"

"It's nothing to worry about."

"Of course, sorry."

The two of them walked back to the seating area, Tom taking his Mother's armchair this time. Hermione felt uneasy, much preferring the company of Merope, but forced herself to try and relax. He was just a boy.

"I gather that you have been spending a lot of time with my Mother," he said, reaching across the table to pick up his glass.

"Yes, she is a fascinating woman. I can see where you get your power from."

"Hmm. Perhaps. She never knew how to use it, whereas I do."

"What do you mean?"

"Mother possesses a great deal of power, but what does she do with it? Nothing. The strongest spell she's cast in years was on her hair."

Hermione frowned. "That's probably not true."

He smiled, stubbing out his cigarette with one hand and raising his glass with the other. "I, on the other hand, have dedicated myself to using that innate magical ability to strengthen myself. There is little I can't accomplish."

She smirked, draining her drink. "Your arrogance will be your downfall."

"My arrogance?"

"Yes."

Tom waved his hand over her glass, refilling it. "We shall see."

"What is it you're working on? You told me that you had your own studies to complete during our first tutorial. What are they?"

He sat back, fixing her gaze. "Eternal life."

Hermione laughed, though quietened when she saw his serious expression. "Really? Oh come on, that's something even magic cannot do."

Tom rose from his chair and moved around the table to sit next to her. She didn't shy away this time, instead watching him closely. His delicate features looked beautiful in the dim light of the room, the shadows cutting his cheekbones.

"A lot of things can be overcome, Hermione. By those who dare to explore the realms of magic that most are afraid of," he said, quietly. "How do you think my Mother and I survive in this isolation, alone?"

"I don't understand."

"Aside from yourself, have you ever seen anyone inside this Manor?"

"No, I don't believe I have."

"Then how..." he began, cupping his palms together. After a second he opened them, revealing a rosy apple. Hermione's eyes widened as she observed it, before looking back at him. He was waiting for her gaze. "Do we manage to create sustenance?"

"Gamp's Law says that should be impossible!" she cried, taking the apple from his hands and turning it around in front of her. He gently lowered her hand with his and leaned in closer.

"Nothing is impossible."

His thumb ran smoothly over the hand he still held.

Hermione tried to muster something to say, but found herself unable. The Riddles possessed something fantastic inside of them - not their magical abilities, but the capacity to push beyond what was the norm. It astounded her.

So lost in her thought, she barely had time to realise that he was kissing her. Tom's free hand moved to the back of her head and held it softly, urging her to follow his lead. That bitter smell returned, more intoxicating than before and she complied, turning her head as he desired, letting that kiss consume her.


	5. Chapter 5

Merope sat down on the edge of her bed, hands still clutching the brown paper package tightly. She could feel the fang, hard and heavy, only thin layer separating the harsh poison from her skin. As she placed it gently by her side, she noticed a small sheet of parchment poking from underneath the tooth. She pulled it out gently, careful to avoid the fang itself and began to read the familiar scrawl.

_Merope,_

_It has been discovered and destroyed. The Chamber had been opened. The residue of magic from within told me all I needed to know. Merope, you must be careful. I know that your knowledge, above that of all others, can help. It is hard, but you know what he has sacrificed and what pain he could cause. I bid that you come to me, we must find what they are and how to destroy them._

_A._

The letter fluttered from between her fingers to the ground. She stared at it for a moment longer, before tears clouded her eyes and any clear definition faded.

"He is my son," she stammered, clenching her fists into her pale hair and pulling hard at the strands. "My Tom."

Merope let herself fall back onto her bed, drawing her knees into her chest as she struggled to keep her tears from falling. Eventually, sadness broke the woman and shuddering cries wracked her body. Why would he do this - had she gotten it so wrong? She had done everything to make him happy, _everything_. But still, he was distant, still he despised her, still he did everything he could to bring ruin.

Tom Snr. and Merope had given the boy nothing but love from the moment he was born. Her husband had initially been worried about having a magical child but, as soon as he cradled his son in his arms his concerns dissipated. Merope could still remember the ways his eyes softened and crinkled around the edges, the way his thumb gently stroked his son's forehead as he held him. As Tom grew, they continually doted upon him. Merope encouraged his magical education, whilst Tom Snr. taught him more about the Muggle world, reading him Classics every evening and taking him on day-trips to important landmarks.

The Riddle family visited Exmouth beach every June, to give Tom an experience of the seaside. The first five trips were exactly as Merope imagined. Tom and his Father chased each other through the sand dunes as she lounged in the warmth of the sun and listened to their bubbling laughter. They went rockpooling, swimming, won stuffed animals for Tom at the fairground. One of her fondest memories was of her husband, laughing until his face turned red at Tom who didn't seem to realise that his ice-cream had splattered across his cheeks, chin and forehead. The little boy then saw his reflection in the glass pane of the ice-cream shop. Immediately he began to raucously laugh, the same as his Father, and flashed Merope the biggest grin his tiny face could manage.

Things changed the year after that, the year his magic came to light. He didn't want to be around his family any more, he wanted to stay in his room with his books and practice. Tom didn't smile after that, not with the open, honest happiness of his childhood. His grins looked fake, mere smirks. They did everything right. _They did everything right._ Surely then, she reasoned, Tom was not the fault of his parents, but -

Perhaps it was her fault - she was the one with the interest in the Dark Arts. But she had never truly utilized the area of magic she studied so intensely and she certainly never introduced it to Tom. When she discovered him, one day during his adolescence, torturing the local Custodian's son with the Cruciatus Curse, she had taken his wand and disallowed the use of magic until he promised her that he would never use that spell again. If only she had forced him to make an Unbreakable Vow. But he seemed so sincere, his eyes had brimmed with tears and his now-broken voice stammered over his apology.

Her sobbing ceased and she raised herself from the bed in the same graceful manner she always did. She gently swept back her hair, flicked the tears from her cheeks and stared angrily down at the Basilisk fang beside her.

_Magic corrupted him._

_She walked to the remains of her husband, leaving her bloodied son in the hallway. She knelt to the floor, hand shakily reaching out to touch Tom Snr's torso. His face was no longer the handsome visage she had known, but a bloody pulp. One eyeball drooped from its socket onto an exposed cheekbone. Tears dripped from Merope's eyes and her chest shuddered with sadness._

" _My love, wake up," she pleaded, voice barely a whisper. She leaned closer to his body and patted his cold, still hand with hers. "Tom, please. Please, I-."_

_She laid her head against his chest, just as she did every night. Usually, she would be soothed to sleep by the beating of his heart, his warm skin, though now - nothing. "I love you."_

_Raising herself up onto her hands, she looked back at his destroyed features. It was unbearable. She whispered a spell under her breath and lifted her hand to touch his cheek as his face slowly regenerated._

" _I love you, please Tom! Please wake up!" she screamed, beating her hands against his chest. Her motions became frantic as the pain in her chest grew to intolerable levels and threatened her heart to burst. Her thoughts flew to Dark Magic - surely she could bring him back? She needed to bring him back, her love, her love - what else could she do? But there was nothing - no curse, no hex, no potion - that could reanimate the dead._

_Death was not a state that even magic could conquer._

There was little else she could do. Tom had killed a student at his school, his own Father. And he was making horcruxes.

She was left with no choice.

* * *

 

Hermione opened her mouth to allow him to move his tongue against her own. She felt his smirk against her skin as their heads turned to either side. He pushed against her harder and she couldn't help but push back, unwilling to relent to him. Tom groaned and moved his hand into her hair, twisting it between his fingers. His other hand moved to the neck her blouse and tugged at it roughly, causing the top two buttons to tear and clatter to the floor.

Sharply, Hermione pushed him back, wincing as his hand untangled from her hair. "Tom, I-"

"What?" he replied, voice softer than usual. His pupils had dilated and a sight flush marked his cheeks - clearly he was more excited than he intended to let on. Hermione smiled gently. For all his pomp and arrogance, Tom was still a teenage boy.

"Tom, this - that was not appropriate. I am your tutor."

"It's been a long time coming, don't you think?" he snapped.

"Excuse me?"

Tom smirked at her and tilted his head to one side. "I know you think I'm attractive."

Hermione sighed irritably and stood, placing her wine glass back onto the table. He followed her movement, silently. "Don't be so arrogant, Tom. We will discuss this in the morning. Goodnight."

As she turned into the ballroom, Tom grasped her wrist in his hand and pulled her into his chest. Immediately his lips crashed roughly onto hers, a far more brutal kiss than the last.

Hermione squealed in irritation, pushing against his chest with both her palms. They both stumbled backwards and Hermione crashed down onto the floor. She jumped back onto her feet and fumbled in her pocket for her wand. Just as she grasped it, she noticed something from the corner of her vision. Tom had raised his own wand at her, the pale yew steady between his fingers. The point dug into her chest as she stood back up, turning to look at him.

"Tom?" she said, cautiously watching the wand as he twisted it painfully into her sternum.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me - now. I will not ask again."

Hermione flushed with anger, balling her fists at her side. A strange, small voice inside her head urged her to do it - it would be stupid to deny her attraction to him. A base attraction, certainly, but it was still ever present in her mind. "You are an arrogant wretch. Why on Earth would I want to kiss someone like you?"

A deathly silence fell between them for an agonizingly long period. Hermione's heart beat roughly against her chest - she wasn't sure if such a violent reaction was due to fear, or arousal. Eventually, Tom lowered his wand, dropping the item to the floor at his feet and stepped towards her, chest brushing her own. The loss of his wand did not mark her safety - she knew he could wield powerful magic without it. A dark grin spread across his face as he looked down at her. "Silly girl."

Tom shoved her backward into the wall, roughly, as if to harm her. Her hands clasped his shirt and she dragged him to her, crashing her painfully lips against his. Behind her, nearly entirely faded from sight, was the dark stain that still that marked the ballroom floor. Tom fixated his gaze upon it, smiling into the kiss. He pictured the mutilated face of his Father and imagined it was his Mother's neck he roughly sucked between his teeth.

Hermione hissed at the slight pain, pushing Tom back. He looked up at her through heavily lidded eyes, lips swollen from the aggressive kiss. She stared back at him with her mouth agape, lost for words. Finally, she shook her head, blinking rapidly to focus.

"No, no more," she whispered, stepping to the side. Tom remained quiet as she pushed past him, leaving him alone in the darkened room.

* * *

 

The following morning, Hermione woke to a gentle knocking on her bedroom door. She scrabbled to her feet, pulling a thin nightgown around her body before approaching the entrance.

"Tom?" she asked nervously, pushing down on the handle. Her heart began to pound harder - she dearly hoped it wasn't Riddle. Kissing him - or rather, allowing him to kiss her - was a complete mistake. She blamed the wine, or the loneliness of the place. She was certainly not attractive to Tom - not personality wise, at least. It would be hard for anyone to deny his beauty, but it was rather his intelligence that piqued her interest. Not that she was interested, _of course._

"No, just me," came the reply. Hermione smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. Merope smiled wearily at her as she swung open the door. For the first time since her arrival, the woman was not dressed in mourning attire. She carried a small suitcase in her hands and wore a thick, forest green coat - she looked ready to travel.

"Good morning Merope, please come in," she said, moving out of the way of the door.

"I'm afraid I cannot stay. I came to say goodbye for a while," the older woman replied. Her eyes were hollowed by dark circles and her cheeks appeared sunken. Clearly Merope had not slept. Hermione wondered if the package she seemed so perturbed by the previous evening had anything to do with it.

"Goodbye?" Hermione answered, shocked. Merope nodded and gripped her bag tighter in between her fingers.

"I'm going to be leaving the Manor for a period of time. I cannot estimate the length quite yet."

"I-," she began, a little lost for words. "Where are you going?"

"A number of different locations. Places vital for my studies." The Riddle matriarch was not as good a liar as her son, but Hermione felt she ought not to press the matter with her further - she looked dreadful.

"Of course. Well, I suppose I should start packing also," she replied. "I really don't think Tom-"

Merope's face fell as she spoke. "No, my dear, you must stay! I know it is a lot to ask of you, but I cannot leave Tom alone! He - he needs somebody here."

"I couldn't possibly impose on you any longer, Merope," Hermione added, frowning slightly.

"It's no imposition at all. Please, stay."

There was a strange tone to the woman's voice - a sort of pleading. She weighed up the choice of staying in her mind. There was Tom to deal with, though on the other hand there was the incredible Riddle archives and collections to trawl through. And, as bad as it sounded, she wasn't in the financial state to leave. Maybe after another month or-

"Okay. I will stay until you return."

Merope sighed in relief. "I cannot thank you enough, Hermione. Just, please continue your tutorials with Tom." Her eyes flitted to Hermione's neck for a brief moment and her face seemed to pale. Instantly, the younger woman blushed and pulled her robe tighter across her chest. She knew, from the throbbing pain that had been there all morning, that her throat was peppered with raw bite marks and bruises courtesy of Tom.

"I must be going," Merope said, voice strained. Her beautiful eyes fixed Hermione with a desperate stare. "But, one final word. Please be careful. You are a strong girl, but-"

"Careful?"

"There is something you must do for me, without Tom's knowledge. It is a lot to ask, forgive me, but I find myself trusting your courage."

"What will you have me do?" Hermione replied, confused. She did not understand why Merope's hands shook, why her eyes wildly bored out of her skull. The older woman leaned in, taking Hermione's hands in hers.

"Do you know what a 'horcrux' i-?" Merope asked, frantically.

"Mother?"

Tom's clear, calm voice shattered their intimacy. Merope held her gaze intently and squeezed the younger woman's hands tightly. As she moved away, Hermione felt Merope slip something in between her fingers. Something small, smooth - it felt like a piece of folded parchment. Hermione raised an eyebrow but gently tucked the paper into the pocket of her robe without word - clearly this was something Merope did not wish for Tom to see. The two women turned their heads to see him standing at the end of the corridor, dressed in his usual, formal attire with his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets. As he strode toward them, Hermione looked back at Merope. Her small, delicate hands were clenched into fists and her jaw tightened so that the underlying bone jutted beneath her pale skin.

"Tom, your Mother was just-" Hermione began.

"Leaving, yes I know," he replied, coolly. He stopped beside them and stared down at Merope. "I was just going to ask Hermione if she would like to come for breakfast."

"Um, of course. Let me just get dressed."

Merope turned back to Hermione a final time, eyes still wide and frightened. There was something else there, in her final expression, a strange contempt - disgust perhaps - toward Tom. It was the first time she had seen anything but adoration apropos her son. "I will see you soon, Hermione."

Before she had time to reply, Merope had vanished from the corridor, leaving Hermione and Tom facing one another. He eyed her silently for a moment before stepping closer.

"I will be in the breakfast room," he murmured, smiling as his eyes travelled over the outline of her body. He curtly nodded at her before departing.

Hermione ran her hands through her hair, entirely uncertain of the events that had just occurred. She turned and gently shut the door to her bedroom behind her, leaning on it as she struggled to piece her thoughts together. Everything that happened last night, oh Merlin, that was a mistake. She wasn't certain was possessed her to sleep with Tom - for heaven's sake, he was younger than her, he was her student, not to mention he was an abhorrent person in general. Her thoughts did not linger on the matter any longer, for fear of facing the problem.

' _Do you know what a 'horcrux' i-"_ A horcrux. Hermione frowned as Merope's final question resurfaced in her mind. The older woman seemed so intent on telling her, if only she hadn't been interrupted. Clearly it was Tom's presence that halted her so suddenly, therefore it must have something to do with him. She had never heard of a horcrux before, but she was sure that the Riddle Library must have something on the subject.

Hermione walked toward the wardrobe that held her clothing and peered at herself in the mirror that was fixed to the door. Four vicious, purple marks stained the pale skin of her throat, no wonder Merope had noticed them. She shed her dressing gown, gasping slightly as she took in the rest of her body. Blossoming bruises marred her waist and upper arms, from Tom's rough grip

As she twisted her body to examine a bruise on her hip, something curious caught her eye. In between the folds of her discarded robe was the small, folded note that Merope had slipped into her hand before she left. Hermione picked up the paper and gently unfolded it. She cocked her head to one side and frowned - what on Earth did this mean?

_Bullock, O Secrets of the Darkest Art 2810928_

* * *

 

Tom paced back and forth, running his right hand along the mahogany dining table. A gentle hum vibrated between his lips and he rapped the tips of his fingers against the wood in time with the tune, the light of the morning sun reflecting from the ornate ring he now wore. He was thankful to Hermione for locating it, as well as the locket, which now sat heavy beneath his shirt. They had been hidden for so long. The sight of the ring was beautiful to him - the ring signified everything Merope had tried to hide from him, his magic, his heritage. It reminded him of everything he had taken from her.

The absence of his Mother perturbed him slightly - she hadn't left the house since his Father's death. Her motives for leaving could hardly be sinister, Merope's intelligence was hardly high enough to suspect him of any misdeed. She had hidden his horcrux and Slytherin's locket out of sentiment - because they reminded her of his Father - not out of suspicion. The woman garnered no respect from him - she squandered her magical talent for the sake of loving a Muggle, forsaken the name of her ancestors and replaced it with the pitiful name of _Riddle_ and, laughably, left him unpunished even after spraying his Father's brain across the floor of their family home. She was a pathetic excuse for a woman and there was nothing in his heart but hatred for her.

No, Merope had no idea of what her beloved son was planning.

He stopped, tilting his head upwards and closing his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. His fingers curled around the arm of the chair that was placed at the head of the table. As he began to pull it out from underneath, a sudden weight halted him. Sharply, he opened his eyes and looked down at the chair, near-jumping at the sight before him.

Tom Riddle Snr. sat in front of him, elegantly reclining in the chair the way he always had. He was dressed in his usual attire - a deep navy suit and a white shirt, golden suns dotting the sides of his cuffs. The morning sun reflected from the ornate ring he wore on his forefinger. His hair was parted on the left, curls neatly combed with gel to keep them from moving in front of his dark eyes. The older man wore his age well - very few lines marred his skin but those that did seemed to enhance his beauty only further. He looked far different from the last time Tom had seen him. Rather than battered and bloody, the man seemed pieced together, confident, _real._ His eyes bore into Tom's intensely and they stared at each other silently for a moment. Riddle Snr shot up from his chair, causing the legs to screech across the wooden floor, taking a step closer toward Tom.

Before the younger man allowed himself to shriek, he stepped back and took a deep breath, forcing his hands into fists at his sides in order to stop them from shaking.

"You're dead. You are not real," he murmured, sliding his thumb over the ring. Riddle Snr. matched his action, still glaring daggers at his son.

"Not real, no," he replied, softly. His voice was as clear and deep as Tom remembered. He raised his hand in front of his chest and peered down at the ring that matched his the one on his son's hand, screwing his nose upward in an expression of disgust. "I did so hope you wouldn't find this again."

Tom took another deep breath, allowing his racing heart to calm. "It will be hidden again soon enough. I wanted to wear it for a little while."

"Does it not corrupt you?" Riddle Snr asked, unmoving.

The younger man scoffed. "It holds part of me. Wearing it, having it near, is the closest I feel to being whole."

"You will never be whole," his Father snapped, causing Tom to jump slightly at the sudden volume. Riddle Snr. moved closer, forcing him backwards. "You've torn your soul into pieces, you are a murderer, Tom. I don't know what foul idea infected you-"

"Why are you here?" Tom said. He intended to match his Father's tone, but found it came out squawking and meek. Riddle Snr. halted his advance and stilled, the morning sun draping his handsome face in shadow.

"To remind you of what you are," he replied, quietly. As he pulled back, out of the shadows, a long trickle of blood poured from the top of his skull, dripping from his brow-bone to his full lips. Tom held in a gasp as the older man turned and slowly made his way back to his seat at the head of the table. He sat down, still watching his son closely from across the room. A ragged gash was ripping the top of his skull in two, though it's presence did not seem to bother him.

"And what is that?" Tom replied, nearly gagging as the sound of tearing flesh and the smell of putrefaction filled the room.

A grim smile rose on Riddle Snr's face. "Damned."

Tom inhaled sharply, mouth curving into a frown. "I will never die. I am not a pathetic Muggle."

"You will die. As all of us die," Riddle Snr. replied. His left eye seemed to burst in its socket and fall flatly on his cheek, hanging loosely by a thread.

"I will not die!" he shouted in retaliation. These wounds were what _he_ had created. Riddle Snr's smile did not fade, even as his right cheek caved with a sickening crack. "You are evidence of my success, this horcrux is evidence of my success!"

"Death cares not for success, or power, or all the magic in the world. It eats and eats and is never satiated. You will die, Tom."

The man let out a sigh, leaning back into his chair. Tom's lip curled in anger - his Father was dead, he was supposed to remain that way. And to see him now, sat at the head of the table, alive as he, fuelled a rage inside of him.

"And I will be there to meet you at the end," Riddle Snr. chuckled. He fixed Tom with a dark stare, mouth slowly creeping back into a smile.

"No! I will not die!" Tom screamed, wrenching the ring from his finger and hurling it to the floor. The vision of his Father disappeared from sight, but his words still rang strong in Tom's mind. He raised his hand and the chair at the head of the table burst into flames. "I will never die. I can make more than two. I can make many more-"

Tom fell to his knees, clutching his aching head in his hands. Blasted horcrux. He needed them away, hidden, gone. So they could not be damaged, nor could they damage him. The horcrux, though powerful, was an imperfect curse. Not only did it bind a part of his soul to his object of choice - but the soul of the life he took. To feel whole, to wear these trinkets, would bring the presence of the other soul closer also. When he wrote in his diary, the dead girl from the bathroom would He had to be rid of them. The price of living forever was great, but not one he was unwilling to pay.

_He would make more. Many more._

"Tom? Are you alright?"

He heard rushed footsteps and felt the warmth of flesh against his shoulder. Instinctively, he flinched, tumbling onto his backside. Tom looked up, not seeing the grim spectre of his Father, but kind brown eyes and a concerned smile.

"Are you okay, Tom? You look dreadful," Hermione asked, crouching down to his level. She had taken his shaking hands in hers - he hadn't even noticed.

"Yes, fine," he said, wrenching his hands from hers. He ran them swiftly through his hair, then down, pulling against the skin of his face to try and shake his nerves.

Hermione sighed and looked at him sadly. "Okay. Sit with me for breakfast?"

"Of course," Tom replied, breathlessly. He climbed back onto his feet and walked back toward the table, slipping a cigarette from his top pocket and raising it to his trembling lips.

"Tom?"

"What?" he said, turning on the spot as he lit the cigarette.

Hermione smiled and held out her hand. "You dropped your ring."

The weight of the locket was heavy against his chest. His gaze flicked back up to Hermione's and his mouth sank back into his usual smirk.

"Thank you," he replied, plucking it from her hand and burying it deep in his pocket. For the brief second it touched his skin, Riddle Snr. appeared behind Hermione, face seemingly repaired, staring down at her with a worried expression.

He would make many more.


	6. Chapter 6

" _Mother?"_

_Merope turned her head, placing her book onto the nightstand. "Tom?"_

_A young boy stepped into the room, wide eyes shining in the dim candlelight._

" _Are you okay, my love?" Merope asked, holding out a hand to beckon him over. It was strange to see him standing in her doorway. He had often run to his parent's bedroom in the middle of the night when he was younger, but it had been years since he had been plagued by night terrors._

_Tom shuffled over to her, taking her hand in his. "I couldn't sleep. I called for Father but he didn't come."_

_He climbed onto the end of the bed and crawled up the duvet to sit next to her. Merope opened her arms and pulled him closer, allowing him to lean his head against her shoulder. "Your Father is away on business at the moment, darling. But you can always talk to me, okay?"_

_Merope felt him nod against her side. This was the first time in months that Tom had shown her any affection and, although she hated to see her son upset, she was pleased he had come to her. As she gently stroked his dark curls, she noticed his hands trembling in his lap._

" _Why couldn't you get to sleep?" she asked, soothingly. "You can tell me, sweetheart."_

_He turned his head upwards to look at her, eyes bulging with fright. "I heard whispers," he replied, quietly._

" _Whispers?" Merope replied, face beginning to pale._

_The boy nodded again, bringing his knees up into his chest._

" _They were coming from the walls and under the floor. They won't stop," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. He rubbed his temples hard, leaving red marks across his pale skin."I feel as if I'm going mad."_

_With a sad smile, Merope pulled her son closer, wrapping both arms around her son. "Oh my love, you are not mad. You are just special. The whispers won't hurt you, not if you tell them to go away."_

_They sat in silence for a long moment, before Tom finally shrugged Merope's arms off his shoulders and stood up from the bed. He walked slowly to the doorway, with a thoughtful look on his face._

" _I will tell them to go away," he said, as if to himself._

_He lifted his head and headed out of the bedroom, eyes glazed over. Merope sank back into the pillows behind her, raising a hand to run through her hair. She had hoped Tom wouldn't inherit her family's gift, she wanted nothing more to do with their dreadful heritage. With a flick of her fingers, the candles at her bedside were snuffed out, leaving the room in total blackness. She slid down the headboard and laid her head down on the pillow._

" _Go away," she murmured, words slithering from her lips into the darkness. She couldn't bring herself to tell Tom that the whispers never truly went ceased, that there was always a subtle, sharp hiss echoing in the back of one's mind. At this point she could only hope that her son would be able to keep his mind sound and not descend into madness like her Father._

* * *

"I cannot believe it."

"You _do not_ want to believe it, Merope. I realise it must be hard, but we both know it is true. You have seen it with your own eyes."

Merope ran a hand through her silver hair as she paced back and forth in front of the grand oak desk beside her. "Of course, I do not want to believe it, Albus. He is my son."

The man sat behind the desk leaned forward, holding out a hand toward her. "Please, my dear, stop pacing. You are making me feel quite seasick."

Gently, the woman reached out and took ahold of his hand, a sad smile on her face. She sat opposite him, lowering herself into the chair with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I just- I do not know what to do."

Dumbledore smiled, peering at her over his half-moon glasses. "You are so strong, Merope. You will know what to do."

Tears sprung to Merope's eyes. "He is my son, Albus. I cannot do anything. I love him."

"He has committed so many crimes already. And he will continue, unless you are able to help him."

The woman clutched Albus's hand tighter and leaned forward, desperation in her eyes. "He cannot be changed. I have tried. Tom is-"

Dumbledore tilted his head and softly replied, "Tom is what, my dear?"

A tear fell between them, splattering across the oak. "Tom is mad," she whispered, hoarsely.

* * *

 

"I don't understand how you do it."

"You are a clever woman, Miss Granger. You will work it out."

Hermione raised on eyebrow and leaned back in her chair, hands folding over her stomach in satisfaction. A near licked-clean plate was placed in front of her, only remnants of the conjured food spattered across the china. The atmosphere in the dining hall was different than usual. Tom reclined in his chair, relaxed, blazer swung over the back of his chair and top buttons undone. The heat of the summer morning caused a sheen of sweat to cling to their skin and they both sipped on iced tea to cool. They had been sat together for nearly an hour and Hermione was surprised that Tom had not managed to upset the mood between them yet.

For the first time, she saw him as a genuinely attractive man. Not merely an object of lust, or a persuasive, alluring fuck, but as something beautiful. They joked together and he would laugh, accompanied by a handsome smile that caused more sweat to rise on her skin. As they discussed academic matters, his brow would furrow in thought. For the first time, he seemed human.

Merope's warning still rang strong in her mind as she surveyed him. _Please be careful._ There seemed very little to be wary of at first glance. Tom was staring down at his plate, gently turning over a piece of egg white with his fork, an small smile on his face. He seemed content. But the longer she stared at him, the more oddities she noticed. His plate was still laden with food, as it always was. He never seemed to eat, not in front of Hermione at least. It gave him a strange, inhuman quality, as if air, wine and cigarettes were all the sustenance he needed. The smile appeared genuine, though did not match his absent, empty gaze. There were fractures in his mask of sanity that could not be hidden be an attractive smile.

She leaned forward to pick up her beverage, blowing gently upwards to move the damp curls from her forehead. "I'm sure I will."

Tom smiled at her and began to roll up the left sleeve of his shirt. "Hermione, I am planning to have some friends over tomorrow evening, I was hoping that you may be able to attend to your studies whilst they are here."

"Of course," Hermione replied, placing her drink back on the table. "I have a little more research to do anyway."

Tom cocked his head. "I suppose my Mother gave you some more reading to do."

"She did," she answered. Vigilance was still needed, regardless of her doubts.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, fixing her with a stare.

Hermione smiled gently and held his gaze. "Nothing you'd be interested in, I'm sure."

Tom chuckled and let his fork clatter back down onto his plate. "I'm sure."

"Now," Hermione began, placing her palms onto the table and pushing herself to her feet. "Tutorial at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Must we?" he replied, rolling his eyes. "There really is nothing you can teach me."

"I beg to differ. You still cannot produce a Patronus, correct?"

He sighed in irritation, folding his arms across his chest. "It's hardly an important spell."

"Still. Ten o'clock. Drawing room," she said, walking to the open doorway. She paused, turning on her heel to look at him. "Don't be late."

Tom scoffed and watched her round the corner to the staircase. He relaxed into his chair, leaning his head back against the rest. They were alone in the Manor - why hadn't he cursed the woman yet? She was impudent, an irritation, but worst of all - she was in his way. Merope never left him on his own, this was the perfect opportunity to continue his work. He should kill her - slit her throat in her sleep and leave the body to rot in one of the endless hallways,. But this woman was no Muggle, no whining girl who wouldn't be missed - from the amount of mail she received, she had friends and family who cared about her and her connection with Dumbledore was not something to overlook. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he thought of his old Headmaster - intrusive fool. Perhaps Hermione was a way of keeping an eye on him from afar.

No, she was hardly the type who could keep up such a facade.

* * *

 

_Merope flicked aimlessly through her papers, half-chewing on the end of a pencil. It had been two days since her husband had left for Italy and she missed him terribly. She had been intending to work on her latest dissertation, but she found herself unable to concentrate. A sudden bang from the end of the room drew her attention. Her son was stood in the doorway, a bright red flush spread across his cheeks._

" _Hello, darling," Merope said, a smile rising on her lips. As Tom grew nearer to her desk, she noted the furious expression on his face._

" _Why didn't you tell me?" Tom snapped, slamming a book down in front of Merope. She looked down at the tome, colour draining from her face when she saw what it was._

" _Why didn't I tell you what?" she replied, shakily. Her hands shook as she gripped the book tightly between her fingers. She thought she had hidden it well._

" _You know exactly what I'm talking about, Mother," he spat, one fist clenching at his side. "You didn't tell me why we speak Parseltongue, or where we come from - our heritage!"_

" _You didn't need to know," Merope replied, casting her eyes back down at the desk._

" _I didn't need to know?" Tom shouted back at her. She looked back up at him, one hand gripping her wand beneath the desk. "Why would you keep something like that from me? We are the descendants of Salazar Slytherin, we come from the purest blood! Pure until you sullied the line by marrying that, that Muggle!"_

_Merope stood suddenly, waving a hand across the book, causing it to set alight. Tom's eyes widened in surprise and he took a step back. His Mother leaned across the desk, eyes burning with an emotion Tom had never seen from her - hatred._

" _Our heritage is a pathetic account of incest and bloodshed and we will have nothing to do with it," Merope hissed, venom lacing her words. "Their blood is far from pure."_

" _But-" Tom began, brow furrowing in anger._

" _Get out," she snapped. Tom flinched at her tone, surprised by the rage he never knew his Mother possessed. "And if I ever hear talk of this again, I will burn every mention of magic from your mind."_

_Tom's mouth dropped open in disbelief. He paused, as if lost for words. Slowly, he turned away from his Mother and walked out of the study, slamming the door behind him. Out of sight of his Mother, he cast a silencing charm over his head and began to scream._

* * *

 

The sun filtered through the window shutters, casting thin rays of light across the wooden floor of the Library. Hermione let out a breath, eyes closing as she enjoyed the warmth of the morning. She dropped her satchel on the floor and stepped over it, toward the south wall bookcase.

_Bullock, O Secrets of the Darkest Art 2810928_

She climbed the tall wooden ladder that moved along the bookcase and ran her hands across the many spines. After muttering a quick incantation, the ladder began to slide slowly along the case, aiding her search for 'Secrets of the Darkest Art'. For a moment, she admired the many different titles the Riddle family owned, impressed by the rarer, more expensive copies of books she could only dream of possessing.

"Bulsom, N," she murmured, tracing the name on the spine of a book. "And-"

She paused, frowning. Instead of 'Bullock, O', there was just an empty space. Hermione reached into the large gap, but still found nothing. She stood on her tiptoes and noted the lack of dust on the shelf - someone had taken 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' recently.

"Find what you were looking for?"

Hermione jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. Her sudden movement caused her to footing to slip and she felt herself begin to fall from the ladder. Though she attempted to grasp the rungs above her, she was already too far to reach and a short screech left her mouth. Before she hit the floor, she felt a sharp tug backwards and soon she found herself landing upon something soft and plush. She opened her eyes to see that she was now laying on the large burgundy sofa in the corner of the room. Riddle looked down at her, from his seated position next to her head.

"Do try not to kill yourself in the Library," he said, with a smile.

Hermione scowled and sat up, leaning toward the other end of the sofa. "I wouldn't have slipped if you hadn't crept up on me - again."

"I thought you heard me come in," he replied, with a smirk. "Hardly my fault. You didn't answer my question."

"No, I didn't find what I was looking for," Hermione answered, irritably. "You don't have a copy of it."

"Oh no? What is the title of the book, I'm sure I can find it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and turned her head away from him. She debated whether or not to tell him the truth, but still Merope's warning and her own opinion of Tom caused her to doubt the handsome man staring intently at her. She gave him a wide smile and shook her head carelessly.

"Oh, it's not important, I'm sure I can find it at Hogwarts."

"I see - are you going back to Hogwarts soon?" he enquired, looking down at his fingernails.

She felt herself relax a little at his quick acceptance of her lie, though it was evident he didn't believe her. "Perhaps, I do need to see a couple of my old professors."

"Who do you need to speak to?"

"Um, Professor Snape, who used to teach me Potions-"

"He was my Head of house," Tom cut in.

"Of course, he was Head of Slytherin whilst I was a student too. And I need to contact Professor Lupin as well. He taught Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Ah, the werewolf. He taught me the same subject," Tom said, frowning.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the disdainful way Tom emphasized 'werewolf'. "Did you not enjoy his class?"

"Not particularly. I didn't like him all that much either."

"That's strange, everyone in my year loved Lupin. He was a brilliant teacher."

"He was also a werewolf," Tom snapped, nose turning up at the thought. "Something like that should not be teaching."

A protective feeling grew in her chest for her Professor-turned-friend. "He is an excellent teacher, werewolf or not. It's not as if he was tearing his students to pieces every full moon."

"Never mind. It's not as if he teaches at Hogwarts anymore," Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes at her. She flushed red at his contempt toward Lupin, eager to shoot him down.

"I never asked - why did you leave Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, with a harsh sneer on her face. She rarely raised her voice or felt the need to be unpleasant toward people, but Tom tested her patience like no other. It was almost as if he wanted her to challenge him.

"I didn't choose to leave," he replied, blankly.

"Oh, so you were-"

"I was not expelled," he snapped, eyes flaring up in anger. "My Mother removed me from the school because of an incident that happened at the school whilst I was there."

"An incident?" Hermione asked. She hadn't heard of any 'incident', so was uncertain of what he spoke of.

"Mother thought I would be safer at home," Tom said, looking past Hermione.

"So you didn't want to leave?"

"Of course not. Hogwarts has always been more of a home to me than this place," Tom replied, lip curling in anger.

"I understand that, I felt exactly the same way. As soon as the boat crossed the Great Lake - there was home."

Tom smiled vaguely, but a comforted look softened his sharp features. "And there was home."

Hermione paused, threading her fingers together in her lap. "What was the incident?"

The young man turned his head to look at her, grim smile set in place. "Ask my Mother."

* * *

 

Finally. Through a heavy sheet of rain, Hermione caught glimpse of dim lights shining in the distance. The outline of a small cottage was barely visible in the light of the half moon, but she thanked the stars that it was now only a field away. After trudging through miles of mud, having trees pull at her wild hair, she was exhausted, dirty and more than a little irritated. She would have bloody apparated had the bastard told her of his location. He had always been so secretive, but not without reason, she supposed.

She smiled to herself as she neared the cottage, now able to view it in greater detail. It was a quaint little place, built of cobbled stone and mortar. It was ever so slightly lopsided, but in much better condition than the Burrow could ever hope to be. A small chimney was stuck atop the thatched roof, merrily pumping thick plumes of smoke into the night sky. Hermione hurriedly moved toward the front door, eager to get out of the storm. She knocked brusquely on the door, trying to huddle her body underneath the tiny porch in order to stave off the rain.

Hermione pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. It was strangely cold for a summer evening and the rain that pelted down from the sky made her journey far more miserable than it should have been. She raised her hand and pounded hard against the wooden door for a second time.

"Open the bloody door! What could possibly take this long?" she shouted, continuing to bang loudly on the wood.

The door quickly flung open and a hand grasped Hermione's fist in mid-air, causing her to yelp at the sudden contact. She looked up at the owner of the hand, a big grin forming on her face.

"Patience is a virtue, Miss Granger."

"Oh, shut up Lupin and let me get out of this hurricane!"

Remus smiled at her, releasing her hand from his strong grip. "Manners are also a virtu-"

Hermione cut him off with an annoyed growl and stomped past him, shaking her matted hair, sending raindrops splattering across the floorboards. The man smiled, closing the door behind him and holding out an arm to take Hermione's sodden cloak.

"You look like a wet dog," he chuckled, hanging her coat up on the hatstand near the door. She shook her hair out again, purposefully making some of the water rain down on Lupin. "You act like one too."

"Thank you," she chirped, reaching into her pocket. With a flick of her wand, the rainwater dissipated from her clothes and hair, and her scarf unwound from around her neck and fluttered into Lupin's outstretched arm.

"So, may I ask what brings you to my home on this foul evening?" he asked, throwing the garment over the hatstand.

"Do I need an excuse to meet an old friend?" Hermione replied, peering around the cramped hallway. "Besides, I wanted to see where you were living these days."

"If I know you, Hermione, you always have some reason," he said, ushering her down the hallway and into another brightly lit room. Four large, squashy sofas were arranged in a square around a low wooden table, above which floated a number of lit candles. Bundles of papers, bound by string, were stacked around the room, covering multiple tables and such a large floorspace that she could barely see the Persian-style rug that was placed beneath the furniture. To her left was a large open hearth, in which a fire crackled merrily. Riddle Manor was grand, certainly, but it lacked any homely qualities and for the first time in months, Hermione finally felt comfortable in her surroundings.

"Please, take a seat. Fancy a drink?" Lupin asked, waving an arm in the air. Immediately, a dark, unlabeled bottle flew into his hand. Hermione eyed it cautiously as she flopped down onto one of the sofas.

"What is that, Wolfsbane?" she joked, with a laugh.

"You wish, kiddo," he replied. He raised the bottle to his lips and gave it a hard kiss. Lupin settled himself down on the sofa opposite Hermione, placing the bottle in the middle of the coffee table. "This...is homebrew."

"Merlin, help us. Go on then," she said, kicking off her shoes and crossing her legs up on the sofa.

As Lupin conjured a couple of glasses and began to pour their drinks, Hermione surveyed her friend with interest. He didn't look quite as dreadful as the last time she saw him, though he still seemed exhausted. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his cheekbones jutted out, giving him a hollow look. The three rough scars that marred his face from his brow-bone to his left cheek appeared to be raw, stark red against his pale skin despite having healed years ago. It must be getting closer to the full-moon.

She had never known Lupin before the bite, but he spoke of his past often. They met during Hermione's time at Hogwarts, where he was the teacher to her student. Defence Against the Dark Arts had been her favourite subject and she was shocked to hear that Lupin was 'relieved of his duty' in recent years. He told her that it was not Dumbledore's choice, but rather pressure from the Board of Governors who were concerned about his _kind_ being amongst children. She kept in touch after that, writing to him at first for advice on academic matters, then as a friend. Lupin enforced loneliness upon himself after losing his job, ever afraid of the judgement of the outside world.

"That looks like oil," Hermione sneered, looking down at the dark liquid in her glass. "Are you sure it's not poisonous?"

Lupin leaned back in his chair, took a large gulp of wine and sighed dramatically. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Hmm." She tipped the glass back into her mouth and shuddered as the strong liquid burned her throat. "What the hell-"

"Absolutely beautiful."

"You're nuts."

"Only a little," Lupin replied, with a grin. He placed his glass back on the table and looked back up at Hermione. "Now, what have you been up to? Last I heard you were doing some sort of project with Dumbledore?"

She nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. "That's disgusting, Remus. Pour me another glass."

As he eagerly complied, Hermione reached for her satchel and removed her thick notebook, throwing it toward Lupin. He deftly caught it with his free hand, barely looking up from pouring the drink.

"I'm still writing my thesis. I was doing a lot of work up at Hogwarts, but obviously, was running out of money. Dumbledore kindly found me a job."

"Oh yeah? What did the old codger get you doing? Bulk buying lemon-drops?"

Hermione winced slightly as she took another sip of her drink. "Not quite. I'm working as a tutor for a wealthy family. It's a good deal really. The wage is ridiculous - oh and the, library is fantastic, I can really get a lot done there and the room is huge, almost the size of this entire house-"

"No need to brag, Granger."

"-and the boy I tutor is already quite advanced, so I really don't have to do much."

Lupin sat back into the sofa, spreading his arms over the back. "Sounds ideal to me. Who is the boy?"

"You may know him actually, he went to Hogwarts for a little while. Actually, I sort of, maybe, came here to enquire about him-"

"Ah! There's the ulterior motive!" Lupin cried, in mock anger.

"Oh hush your jowls, Remus. The boy is Tom Riddle - do you know him? I'm staying in Riddle Manor with Tom and his Mother, although she recently left," she rambled, swirling her drink around in the glass.

"Riddle?" Lupin replied, quietly. Hermione looked back up at him and noted the dark expression on his face.

"You do know him then?"

"Yes, I know Tom Riddle," Lupin began, knocking back his drink. "He was in my DADA class."

"What did you think of him?" she replied, moving closer to the edge of the sofa. Lupin's face already told her his opinion of Tom.

"Arrogant little prick. Unsettling," he snorted. His smile dropped and his brow furrowed, as if attempting to remember his former student. "But very powerful."

"My feelings exactly," Hermione said, threading her hands together in her lap. "This afternoon, I asked him why his Mother removed him from Hogwarts. He said that she was worried about bad things happening in the school, that something would happen to him. But the way he said it, I don't know, it just - I didn't believe him."

Lupin sighed deeply and ran a hand through his mussed hair. "You were right not to. He left the school around the same time as Myrtle's death."

"Myrtle?"

"You never hear about it? I bet the Governors kept it pretty hush hush - stupid bastards," he muttered, shaking his head. "A student was found dead in some bathroom in Hogwarts."

"A student was found dead?" Hermione gasped, eyes widening in shock. "How?"

"No-one is sure. It seemed that her heart had just stopped. But there was this rumour flying around the school, an urban legend that fit what had happened, that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, that the girl had been killed by a Basilisk."

"But, that's nonsense."

"Quite. Of course, we both know the only person who can open the Chamber is..." Lupin trailed off, looking expectantly at her.

"The Heir of Slytherin," Hermione replied, a cold shiver running through her body.

"Exactly. So, of course, Tom Riddle is walking through the corridors with this imperious air, rumour goes wild and our boy is prime suspect," Lupin leaned forward and steepled his hands under his chin. "But of course, there's no proof, is there? And _really,_ how could the intelligent, handsome Head Boy be guilty?"

"But his Mother still pulled him out of the school?"

"Indeed. Said it was to protect him from people's accusation and bullying. _Tosh_ \- as if anyone could bully that boy. He always had this superior mien, no-one dared cross him, or his little gang."

Hermione paused, mulling over the information she had just received. "Do you think he did it?"

Lupin stared at her with a grim smile. "No doubt in my mind."


	7. Chapter 7

_Riddle Snr. looked up from The Sunday Times, placing his cup of coffee down on the table. Tom walked into the breakfast room, pausing as he caught sight of his Father._

" _Good morning, Tom," Riddle Snr said, with a smile. His grin faltered as he took sight of his son's bedraggled appearance. His usually pristine attire was creased, untucked and seemed to hang from his slim frame, whilst his hair was mussed and skewed across his forehead. Tom's pallor was verging on grey and the morning light emphasized the gaunt hollows of his cheeks. His eyes were wild, near bulging out of his skull._

" _Good morning," he replied, tone three pitches higher than his usual baritone._

_Tom moved forward and collapsed into the seat to the right of his Father. Riddle Snr. eyed him worriedly, throwing the paper down next to his cup._

" _Are you quite alright, Tom?" he asked, tilting his head to catch his son's eye. Tom looked at him, with such vacancy that Riddle Snr. felt as if he were looking staring straight through him._

" _I'm fine," Tom replied, reaching onto the table to grab a teacup and the teapot._

" _Be careful, that's hot. Use the towel," his Father warned. Too late - Tom hissed loudly as he gripped the burning hot handle and dropped the pot over the table. It splattered across the wood, causing Tom to jump up from his chair, crying out as the hot tea burnt the skin of his hands, chest and arms._

" _Jesus - Tom," Riddle Snr. exclaimed, rising from his chair. "Get to the shower, we need to get cold water on that immediately."_

_Tom winced in pain but refused to move from the spot, reaching into his pocket to grasp his wand. Quickly, he muttered an incantation that evaporated the liquid from his clothes. He shed his shirt, throwing it onto the table. Hurriedly, he held his hands over the raw skin, uttering words unknown to Riddle Snr. quietly under his breath. The red marks slowly began to fade, returning his skin to its usual pallor._

" _That's brilliant, Tom," his Father said, admiring the way his son worked._

" _It's just magic," he replied, blankly._

_His Father smiled, still watching intently as Tom healed himself. As he began to cast over his left arm, Riddle Snr's eyes widened, catching glance of something strange on the skin of his forearm. A dark red scar marred his pale skin - it was jagged, seemingly still fresh and covered the majority of the area. It was a bizarre shape, one Riddle Snr. couldn't quite make out in the brief glimpse he got. Tom seemed to notice his Father's gaze and quickly pulled his shirt back onto his body, covering the mark._

" _Tom, what was th-" Riddle Snr. began, taking a step toward him._

" _Nothing," Tom snapped, blank expression finally cracking into one of anger._

_Riddle Snr. clenched his jaw. "It was not nothing."_

_He reached forward and grabbed ahold of Tom's wrist, pulling him closer. He was still far stronger than his son and, despite his struggles, managed to wrench up the sleeve of his shirt to expose the scar. Now he had a better look, he could see it was a crude outline of a skull, with a grotesque serpent wriggling out of its mouth. Though he was not of magical stock, Merope had told him everything she could about her family, her hatred for them - he had seen this symbol before. It was the mark of Slytherin, a man Merope did everything she could to distance herself from. Horrified, he froze, allowing Tom to yank his arm from his Father's grip._

" _Don't touch me like that," he snarled, furiously. "Don't you ever-"_

" _You are a Riddle, Tom," Riddle Snr. replied, feeling heat flushing his cheeks. "You are not-"_

" _I am the Heir of Slytherin!" Tom screamed back at him, hysterically. "I will not be associated with a pathetic Muggle heritage."_

_His Father took a step back, shocked at his son's violent reaction. "You are my son."_

" _Not, I am not. I tolerate you, I bear you - you are not my Father and you never will be." Tom sneered at him, flicking his wand up toward his Riddle Snr. His intention was to fling his Father's body across the room, slamming him into the wall but - he didn't move. Again, he cast the spell, but still nothing happened._

" _What?" he stammered, confused, looking down at his hand._

_Riddle Snr. stepped toward him, grabbing Tom's collar in his hand and roughly wrenching him close. He leaned in, identical eyes boring into his son's. "Your Mother doesn't trust you, not nearly as much as I do. She thinks I am a fool for doing so and she made sure your magic will never be able to harm me."_

" _What?" Tom hissed, baring his teeth in a snarl._

" _Your Mother has made sure you are as dangerous to me as a 'Muggle'," Riddle Snr. replied, coolly._

_He released Tom's collar and watched him stumble backward into the table, hands bracing against the edge to stop himself from falling. Riddle Snr. picked up the newspaper on the table and tucked it under his arm, before giving his son a final glance. The young man was looking up at him with such hatred that he thought he could sense the magic crackling in the air._

_The older man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "You are my son, Tom and I love you with all my heart," he said, softly, looking back at Tom with sadness. "But I do not understand you. You hold power so much higher than family, or love. I may be a 'Muggle', but at least I know what is most important in life. I hope you learn that too one day."_

_Tom watched his Father leave, clenching the edge of the table tighter in his hands. The china laid out behind him burst to pieces as a wave of wrathful magic rolled off his body. How dare his Mother render him useless, how dare she cast wards around the grounds in order to keep him locked inside the Manor, how fucking dare she refuse to acknowledge their history?! If the woman had her way, he would be as useless and pathetic as his Father. This could not continue, he would not let her get away with any of this - but what could he possibly do with no magic?_

_As he turned to leave the room, a sharp glint caught his eye. He peered down at the table, reaching forward to take hold of the large serving knife that sat next to his Father's plate. Tom lifted it up, twisting it backward and forward in the light. Slowly, as an idea began to form, a smile crept onto his face. He didn't need magic, not for the deed he intended to commit._

* * *

"Where were you last night?" Tom asked, with a sigh, throwing his book back onto the stack at his side. "I didn't see you at dinner."

Hermione frowned, placing her bag down on the desk by the door. "I was seeing a friend. Were you alright here on your own?"

"Quite," he replied, irritably. "Do you really think I cannot manage one evening alone?"

"Of course not," she said, sarcastically, with a smile. "You can manage _anything_."

Tom scowled back at her and stood from the sofa, crossing the room to grab his wand from atop another stack of books. "Well, shall we get this over and done with?"

She tutted at him and shot him a distasteful look. "Have you been practicing the Patronus charm?"

"No," he replied, bluntly.

Hermione held back another tut, but rolled her eyes as he turned away from her. "I see. We should probably work on that first then."

"First?"

"Yes, after that I was thinking we could practice duelling technique."

Tom raised his eyebrows and turned back to her, smirking. " _You_ want to duel _me_?"

"Oh, was I not clear enough?" she said, sarcastically. "Yes, I wish to duel with you."

The smirk widened, forcing a dimple into his right cheek. "Fine by me."

She nodded, slightly unnerved by his unwavering smile, but leaned back against the table and brandished her wand. "Expecto Patronum."

A bright surge of light exploded from the tip of her wand, shooting toward Tom. The spell passed straight through him and headed upward, finally starting to take shape. She had always debated why her Patronus had taken the form of an otter - Lupin always teased her, saying it should have been a lion. A sense of comfort washed over her as she observed the ghostly animal glide smoothly through the air. Perhaps it represented the sense of freedom she desired.

"An otter?" Tom chuckled, raising one eyebrow at her.

Hermione's gaze followed the animal, a faint smile on her face. "I think she's beautiful."

He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head, watching her intently. She looked at ease, just as she had at breakfast the previous day. An uncomfortable feeling rose in his chest - he didn't like her happiness, her content. The otter bounded past his shoulder and Hermione let out a quiet chuckle. Dare she mock his inability to produce such a pathetic charm? It was clearly a useless spell, but that did not stop the anger he felt toward her. As she continued to watch her Patronus leap around the room, he raised his wand, pointing it at her.

A blue spark shot from the tip of his wand, hitting her square in the chest. The woman let out a yelp and fell backward into a stack of books, sending them toppling to the floor. Tom smirked as she tried to compose herself, whilst shooting him a deathly glare.

"What the hell was that for?" she cried, clambering to her feet.

"You said you wanted to duel," he replied, coldly. "It's not my fault your first spell was pointless."

"We aren't duelling yet, Tom! I said-"

"Then we're done with this lesson," he snapped, gracefully lowering himself back down on the leather sofa.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed a number of times, as if she were lost for words. For a moment she looked on the verge of boiling over, but instead she relaxed, shrugged her shoulders and turned away from him.

"Fine."

"Fine?" Tom asked, surprised. He was slightly disappointed that she had given up so quickly - he was looking forward to having an excuse to hurt her. She looked back at him, face set in a blank mask.

"Yes," Hermione said, exasperation obvious in her tone. "There is no arguing with you. Plus, I have better things to do than stand here, shouting at a brick wall who cannot even produce a Patronus."

Tom frowned, clenching his jaw in irritation. She walked to the door, picking up her satchel on the way. As her hand touched the doorknob, she suddenly span around, flicking her wand toward him. A powerful curse raced toward Tom, violently slamming into his side and sending him flying back into the wall, the force blowing the air out of his lungs. He crashed to the ground, cracking one hip against the hard floorboards. For a moment, he just lay there, trying to catch his breath and wincing as pain began to spread across his back. He looked up from the floor, searching for Hermione, only to find that she had already left his room.

With a pained grunt, he pushed himself up onto one elbow. A breathy laugh left his lips as he surveyed the doorway where she had stood. He was somewhat impressed that she managed to take him by surprise, though furious that she dared to curse _him._

_Insolent cunt._

* * *

" _Eeeny, meeny, miney mo!" Tom shrieked, gleefully emphasizing the final sound. He lurched forward and stabbed down with the knife in his hand, ignoring the screams of the girl beneath him. She was around the same age as him, the daughter of some Muggle who lived in the village near their estate- beautiful, though this beauty had been severely marred by the slick sheen of sweat and blood that covered her skin and the grotesque contortions of her face as she howled. The blade sliced through the girl's middle finger and blood began to spurt from the fresh wound. He tilted his head, smile widening as he watched fresh tears roll down her cheeks. Carelessly, he pulled the finger away from the rest of her hand, wrenching it back and forth to tear the last shreds of skin apart._

" _Oops, looks like I didn't make a clean cut that time," he taunted, holding the appendage up to his eyes. "My sincerest apologies."_

" _P-please stop," the girl wept, shaking._

_Tom chuckled and tossed her finger to the side, joining the other three he had already seen to. "Now why would I do that?"_

" _Please, my parents are rich, you can have whatever you want," she stammered. "Just let me go!"_

" _I don't need money. Offer me something else," he asked, sitting back on his heels. He was straddling the girl, making it impossible for her to escape him - a position of power he had never tried before, but was thoroughly enjoying._

" _Power," she cried. "My Father works in a senior position in the Governm-"_

" _No," Tom replied, in a bored tone. He leaned closer to her, placing hands either side of her head, knife almost touching her ear. She stiffened beneath him at his proximity, turning her head as his lips brushed her cheek._

_She shuddered, nearly gagging at her own thoughts. Slowly, she looked back at him, eyes filled with terror. "You can have whatever you want. Just stop, please. Please don't kill me."_

_He gently brushed her cheek with his thumb, sighing softly. His cold lips pressed against hers, so warm and red with blood, and moved one hand to her hair, pulling on the pale blonde locks. She had been a perfect match - blonde, clear blue eyes, pale. She carried herself with the same grace and poise as 'she' always did. For a moment, as he kissed her, he pictured who he truly desired, he tasted her blood on his lips and his heart felt as if it began to beat again. He hated her guts, but he couldn't stop himself, he couldn't lie and pretend that she didn't affect him. She was perfect. The girl beneath him whimpered, screwed up her face and the illusion was lost. He released the kiss, pulling back to look at her._

_She was not perfect. He hated her. He hated the way she affected him. He hated that she married a Muggle, that she hid their history, that she convinced him the voices he heard in his head were nothing more than his own thoughts and had driven him insane. Rage filled his chest as he looked down at the impostor and he raised his fist, slamming it down on the girl's nose._

" _No deal," he spat, grasping the knife firmly between his fingers._

_The girl begged in her final moments, before he plunged the blade into her throat. He pressed down as hard as he could, forcing it down to the hilt. Blood sprayed from the wound, almost comically, covering his face and chest. He leaned down as the girl drew in her final breath and kissed her again, hard. As he wrenched back, he gripped her bottom lip between his teeth, tearing the soft flesh from her face. He stared down at the wretched creature below him and spat the piece of meat onto the floor next to her face._

' _You always lose control, don't you?' a sibilant voice hissed. The voice rang inside his head, from within the walls, beneath the floor._

" _Shut up," Tom replied, closing his eyes._

' _Always. You always lose-"_

" _Shut up!" he roared, blood-stained hands rising to clench fistfuls of his hair. He bent over, laying his head against the girl's collarbone. "Be quiet, please."_

' _-control. Don't you, Tom? Don't you?'_

" _Go away," he whispered, ears ringing as the hissing intensified. Slowly, the sound died away, leaving him alone with his thoughts._

_After a moment, simply enjoying the silence, Tom pushed himself to his feet. He barely gave the girl's body another glance, flicking his wand toward her. Flames sprang up around the corpse, eating into the flesh as Tom exited the room, pulling himself into apparition._

_The next morning, police would search the building for the missing girl. They would be greeted only with a dusty, empty room filled with a acrid stench and no trace of ash on the floor._

* * *

"Damn it!"

Hermione threw another book to the side, falling back into the armchair behind her with an irritated sigh. She had been searching Merope's study for 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' for two hours now and still - nothing. Furthermore, even after brief glances at darker texts, the term 'horcrux' had never been mentioned. She ran a hand through her hair. Why would Merope ask her to locate this book if she didn't have a copy of it in the house? Perhaps she would have to go to Hogwarts after all.

The sun was beginning to set over the hill, sending low shadows across the floor. She was glad that night was near, the entire day had frustrated her. Tom was unbearable, absolutely unbearable, during their 'tutorial'. She had never met someone so foul in her life. After his attitude today and the frankly bizarre behaviour of his Mother, she was on the verge on leaving Riddle Manor. Hermione had already written a letter to Merope, a letter which now sat on the desk in her quarters, stating that she would be departing the next morning. Though she desired to send it, Merope's frantic plea for her to stay still weighed heavy on her.

A strange feeling of obligation permeated her, though she tried to ignore it. That, and the persistent mystery surrounding the Riddle family, kept her within the walls of the Manor. There was something much greater going on here than a stuck-up Son and his doting Mother, though what it was eluded her. She was certain that 'something' was contained within the pages of _O, Bullock's_ book.

As she sat in thought, rising noise caught her attention. She stood and strode toward the door, carefully prying it from the frame without making a sound and peeking through the crack. Three male youths, all around Tom's age were making their way down the hallway toward the Dining Hall, chattering loudly. Of course, Tom had informed her that his friends would be arriving that evening - she distinctly remembered him asking her to stay away from them. To her surprise, Hermione recognized one of them from her time at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy, a wretched boy who made her life a misery for years - all due to the status of her blood. Her lip curled in disgust as she watched the group turn a corner out of sight. What on Earth would Malfoy be doing in the Riddle household?

The chatter slowly drifted into silence and she was alone again. She stepped into the hallway and quietly made her way to the door that opened into the Dining Hall, pressing her ear gently against the panel. Through the thick wood, she could hear Tom's deep tone mixed in with that of his peers, along with the clink of glasses and the scraping of chair legs against floorboard.

Hermione pulled back and raised her wand, wordlessly casting a warding spell around the door. On completion, she turned and began heading down the corridor, in the direction of the staircase. There was still one room she had not searched for 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' and now was the perfect time to look.


	8. Chapter 8

_Nott leaned back against the desk, fingers tightly clenching the oak wood. He had never seen Riddle so angry. The other boy was striding back and forth across his bedroom, face flushed red with anger._

" _You're leaving?" Nott asked, eyes widening in shock._

" _I don't want to," Tom spat back, flicking his wand toward Nott. The boy jumped as the trunk next to him slammed shut. "You know I don't want to."_

" _No, of course," he replied, sucking in a deep breath. His heart was pounding against his chest as if it wished to break free. Riddle always had this effect on him, even after six years._

" _It's my Mother's doing, obviously."_

_Nott tilted his head, frowning. "She is removing you from Hogwarts?"_

_Tom turned to look at him, stilling for a moment. "Indeed. She told the school that she is concerned about my safety, considering what happened to that girl."_

" _That's ridiculous," he replied. Nott was pleased that Tom had chosen him to speak to. They had been roommates every year, up until Riddle became Head Boy, and he was often his confidante. He was the closest thing the other boy had to a friend._

" _I know. The stupid bitch obviously thinks the school would be safer without me inside its walls."_

_Nott chuckled darkly and folded his arms over his chest. "She's probably right."_

_Riddle smirked at him and turned back to the stack of textbooks he had bound with a leather strap. He slid a lone book out of the pile and tossed it toward Nott, who caught it deftly. "I want you to keep that, Theodore. If I keep it within the house, she's bound to find it."_

_Nott looked down at the cover, raising an eyebrow."You sure?"_

" _I don't need it anymore."_

" _So you managed to-?"_

" _Yes," Tom replied, with a triumphant smile. He flicked his wand and a small, black notebook flew across the room into his outstretched hand. Nott raised an eyebrow as Riddle flicked the pages back and forth. "It's amazing really, how innocuous it looks."_

" _You're brilliant, Tom."_

_Nott pushed himself off the desk and strode toward his friend, holding out a hand. Riddle grabbed ahold of it and pulled the other boy closer, circling an arm around his shoulders._

" _Take care, Theodore. I will be needing your help again soon," he whispered, squeezing Nott's fingers._

" _You too, Tom. I will always be there when you need me."_

_The two parted and Nott headed toward the door, picking up Tom's discarded book on the way._

" _Look after that book. And read it. There's plenty of things that will suit your...individual taste. I think you will enjoy it," Riddle called after him._

_Nott chuckled as he shut the door behind him, peering down at the book. 'Secrets of the Darkest Art'. Tom knew him so well._

* * *

__

Tom's room was just as she left it, minus the boy himself. Hermione quickly swept her eyes around the room for a third time, just to be sure that she was alone. She closed the door behind her, clicking the lock gently into place, then strode into the centre of the room. Searching for one book amongst this _mess_ was going to be a Herculean task - unless.

" _Accio 'Secrets of the Darkest Art!_ " she exclaimed, flourishing her wand in front of her.

Nothing. Hermione frowned, placing her hands on her hips. It would take forever to find by hand, but she had little other choice. She sighed and began to walk toward the entrance to Tom's bedroom. If the book was so precious to him, surely he would keep it close to him when he was at his most vulnerable - asleep. She remembered keeping her diary stowed under her mattress in her younger years and the security of having her darkest thoughts safely beside her whilst she slept always gave her comfort.

His bedroom was far neater than the living area. An enormous bed, covered in dark green sheets took up the greatest portion of room, to the left of which sat a wooden desk and matching chair. The desk was piled high with papers, assorted objects but - no books. Hermione frowned and approached the desk, careful not to disturb the papers for fear of Tom's notice. Rather than taking anything from the top of the table, she took a seat at the bureau and ran her hands over the smooth wood. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, moving her fingers lightly over the drawers. There were spells here, wards of some sort. They were barely noticeable, but they were strong. Strongest around the top drawer.

Hermione pursed her lips and drew her wand, placing it next to the drawer. She tapped it twice against the wood and the area around it began to glow a faint shade of yellow. These wards were old, seemingly untouched for months, even years. Tricky, she thought, as she whispered a breaking spell. Tricky, but certainly not unbreakable.

Minutes passed as she began to burst apart the seams of the wards, constantly checking over her shoulder to make sure she was alone. Finally, a quiet click confirmed her success and the drawer slid open automatically.

"Got you," she said, with a smile. Her victory was short-lived however, as the drawer only contained a single, simple black notebook. Hermione grunted irritably as she picked the book up and turned it over in her hand. 'TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE' was emblazoned on the back in bright gold lettering. The pages inside were blank. Why would Tom need to guard something like this?

The clock on the desk chimed seven. Hermione sighed and let the notebook fall onto the desk, slowly leaning back and running a hand through her hair. She had been so certain that she would find 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' here and the result was bitterly disappointing.

A quiet rustling brought her out of her thoughts. Her eyes widened as she looked back at the book. It was moving, seemingly of its own accord, pages flicking back and forth. As she leaned forward, a sudden tugging sensation pulled on her shoulders and she was yanked out of the chair. A bright light blinded her momentarily and her screams were swallowed as she was drawn into the diary.

* * *

__

"So, how have things at Hogwarts been?" Tom asked, leaning back in his chair. He pushed his still-full plate further into the centre of the table. The rest of the boys were near finishing their supper.

Nott shrugged, raising his glass of wine to his lips. "Dull. The first years are nearly as fun to torment without you there."

Riddle smirked at his friend. "I trust that you have been keeping well, Theodore?"

"Well enough."

"Apart from the news of his upcoming marriage, right Theo?" Malfoy remarked, chuckling under his breath. Nott groaned and slid further down into his seat, taking a large gulp of wine.

"Marriage?" Tom asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mother's idea, obviously," Nott replied, furrowing his brow. "I'm to be marrying Ethel Parkinson."

Tom grimaced at the thought. Ethel Parkinson was an attractive girl - until she opened her mouth. Not only did she have the vilest, high-pitched, squawking voice, she never seem to speak of anything but herself.

"At least she's a Pureblood."

Nott glared at Malfoy, nostrils flaring. "I would rather fuck a Muggle. Honestly, can you imagine that voice _moaning-_ "

Malfoy choked on his wine and quickly placed his glass back on the table. "Theo, please! We're trying to eat."

Lestrange placed his fork down on the table and gently wiped his mouth with his napkin. He was a quiet boy, but Tom knew he had a vicious temper and there was something manic behind his eyes. "I would rather fuck Ethel Parkinson than let anything with filthy blood touch my dick."

Tom chuckled, watching the boys intently as they glared at one another. Strangely, he found himself missing the company of his friends. Initially, they had been a means to an end - they were from influential families with useful connections, after all. But he had grown fond of them in time and their devotion to him was evident. Malfoy was quite a few years older than the rest of them and had not been present during their time at Hogwarts. They met through Nott, whose family was close to the Malfoys. In fact, Malfoy was the same age as his tutor-

"Malfoy?" Tom asked, regaining the attention of the other boy. "Do you know Hermione Granger?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Yes, she was in my year. A snotty little Gryffindor know-it-all. Why do you ask?"

"My Mother employed her as my tutor," Tom replied, lacing his fingers together in his lap.

The other boy spluttered and shook his head. "I thought you didn't want any more Muggles in the house?"

"Muggle?" Tom asked, frowning. Hermione wasn't a Muggle, he had seen her wield magic a number of times.

"Well, Mudblood technically, but they're essentially the same thing."

Riddle stared at Malfoy incredulously, the voices of the other boys fading as his thoughts took over. Hermione was a Muggleborn? How could his Mother have allowed such a thing in the house? He clenched his fists under the table and let out a deep breath.

"You okay, Tom?" Nott asked, looking at his friend with concern.

Tom nodded, a smirk rising on his face. "Just dandy."

* * *

__

_The woman awoke in a familiar place, a place with high ceilings, polished floors and opulent furnishings. She was laid down, flat on the floor and her body ached, as if she had been dropped from a great height. The ballroom was cold, quiet - unnervingly so. As her eyes began to focus, she attempted to push herself into a sitting position. Pain shot through her arms and she immediately dropped back down, letting out a faint cry. The clock on the wall chimed nine._

_What happened? Where was she? A thousand questions ran through her mind as the pain began to dull. Slowly, she turned her head to one side and let out a shriek at the sight she was met with._

_A man's face - or rather, what was left of it - was inches away from her own. One eyeball hung loose from the socket, resting in the middle of the man's cheek. His lips were almost completely ripped away from the skin and blood poured from his mouth onto the floor beside her. Above the mess, sat astride the man's chest, was Tom. Despite the fact that he was covered head-to-toe in blood, the boy did not look disturbed. Quite the opposite - a manic smile was stretched across his face and his eyes glinted with excitement. In one hand he held his wand, which was pointed at the dead man's heart. The other hand was raised in front of his mouth. She noticed he was wearing the same ring she had seen in the breakfast room, the same one from that peculiar lost room. Between his fingers dangled a strange item, something pink and dripping with moisture. She gagged as she realised it was the remainder of the dead man's bottom lip. The boy didn't seem to notice her presence and continued to stare at the man._

_Tom jabbed his wand under the corpse's chin and cocked his head to the side. "As much as I hate to digest your putrid Muggle flesh, Father, thank you for providing me with the opportunity to create a Horcrux."_

_Hermione's eyes widened. He killed his own Father? And there was that word again-_

" _Mother was so stupid to think you were safe," Tom hissed. "But know that your pathetic life has not gone to waste. What I have taken from you, shall give me immortality."_

_Riddle grimaced and lowered the piece of flesh into his mouth. The tip of his wand began to glow red and burn the skin it was in contact with. It smoldered Riddle Snr's neck and slowly sunk into the skin. Another light, this time green, shot out of Tom's chest and the boy let out a cry of pain. The green light tore itself free and descended toward his hand, toward the ring. Tom was panting, in visible agony - until both lights were snuffed out and he fell to the side, unconscious._

_Hermione felt the same tugging sensation pull at her and the scene around her began to dissipate. The floor beneath her fell away and she was once again blinded by a startling, white light-_

* * *

__

Forcibly, she was thrown back into her chair, her weight and the momentum nearly tipping it over. Quickly, she steadied herself, placing her hands on the desk. She let out a breath and smiled - it was real, she was back. After another minute of calming herself, she looked back at the diary, which now sat still and innocent in between her hands. The clock on the desk chimed midnight.

Midnight? She had been inside of the book for hours? It had only felt like minutes.

"What are you?" she whispered, picking it up.

"My diary."

Hermione jumped, standing up from the chair. She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a breath. His friends must have left by now. With her spare hand, she removed her wand from her pocket and clenched it tightly. Slowly, she turned.

"What did you see?" Riddle asked. He was leaning against the doorway to his bedroom, arms folded across his chest.

"I didn't see anything," she replied, fingers tightening around the diary.

Tom tutted. His face was blank, but his eyes revealed how angry he truly was. "Try again."

"What is it?" she asked, holding the diary up. "Was what I saw real?"

"What did you see?" he snapped, pushing himself off the doorframe. He strode toward her and snatched her throat between his fingers before she could react. His other hand grasped her wrist and twisted it, forcing her to let go of her wand. She gasped as he pushed her backward, slamming her down onto the desk. In the struggle, she dropped the diary to the floor.

"Get off!" she shrieked, hands flying to the fingers around her throat.

"What did you see, Mudblood?" he hissed, tightening his grip.

She drew in a ragged breath, glaring back at him. One hand found the ring and clawed at it. "W-what - going to kill me too?"

Tom's lip curled into a smirk. "Send Father my best."

As the boy reached for his wand, Hermione dug her nails into the hand that surrounded her throat. Tom gasped and his grip on her loosened, allowing her to push him to the floor. Swiftly, she kicked his fallen form in the chest, winding him. Tom let out a rasp as she ran from the room, picking up her discarded wand and the diary on the way. She flicked her wand at the bedroom door as she entered the living quarters and it slammed shut and clicked as the lock turned.

There was no time to catch her breath, she had to get out of the Manor fast. She sprinted from Tom's quarters and down the hallway, hoping to head toward the main hall. A loud bang from behind her warned her that Riddle had broken free. She rounded the corner and began to descend the stairs, trying not to trip whilst maintaining her speed.

"Hermione," Tom's sing-song voice called from behind her. "There's no point in running from me."

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she raised her wand and shakily conjured a Patronus. The familiar silvery otter appeared beside her as she continued to run through the breakfast room toward the main entrance.

"Go find Lupin, Merope - someone!" she panted, turning another corner. The otter slid ahead of her and flew to the side, disappearing through a wall out of sight. Suddenly, a red light crashed into the window she was about to run past, smashing the glass. She was unable to slow down and she ran straight into the flying shards. The glass embedded itself into her skin and opened wounds on her arms and cheeks.

She cried out in pain, but did not stop running. He had to be close behind her - she could hear his footsteps echoing in the same hallway. Another red curse shot past her and a second window burst to pieces in front of her. Again, the shards penetrated her skin - but this time the shock caused her to trip and she fell to the floor. Glass crunched beneath her body and as she attempted to push herself up the heels of her hands were torn to bloody shreds.

Before she could stand, she felt something tug on the back of her shirt and she was lifted up from the floor. She was twirled around and pushed back violently, sending her flying into the wall. Hermione let out a pained cough and opened her eyes to see Tom standing close to her, hands placed on either side of her head. He cocked his head and smiled at her. Slowly, he raised one hand and smoothed a finger over her cheek. As he drew his hand back, she could see her blood tipping his finger.

"I warned you - there is not point in running from me," he said, softly. "You'll only be causing yourself more pain if you try."

"Do you expect me to accept my death willingly?" she spat, pushing her hands forcefully against his chest.

Tom didn't budge, despite her efforts. He caught her wrists and slammed them back into the wall beside her head. "No, you're right. I like it when they have a little fight."

"How many people have you killed, Riddle?" she asked, angrily.

He smiled back at her innocently. "Not enough."

Hermione snarled at him and raised her knee, smashing it into his crotch as hard as she could.

Tom let out a yelp and stumbled back. "You b-bitch."

The woman sent a curse flying toward him, forcing him to crash to the floor in pain. She turned away from him and began to run, through the door at the end of the hallway and into -

Hermione gasped. She walked this route every day, it should lead to the main hall. But instead, the door opened into the ballroom! She frowned and limped into the cavernous room, wincing in pain as her movement caused her wounds to open afresh. She recalled the incident months ago where she ended up in a strange part of the house - Merope had warned her ' _The Manor has a mind of its own'._ The house was worse than Hogwarts' ever changing staircases! As quickly as she could manage, she turned and cast a more powerful warding spell over the door. It wouldn't hold Tom for long, but perhaps it would give her time to make it across the ballroom, through the kitchens and-

A loud bang rang out behind her and she was sent flying to the ground once more. Riddle stormed into the ballroom, wand held aloft, eyes searching for her. He approached her fallen figure slowly, smile creeping up onto his face. Hermione raised her wand to fight, but it was snatched from her grasp by an unspoken Expelliarmus.

"You could have prevented this, Hermione," he remarked, jerking his wand toward her. Instantly, pain erupted across her entire body. Her body twitched and spasmed as daggers sliced her skin and tore her muscles apart-

The pain stopped suddenly. She opened her eyes and let out a breath, limbs relaxing as they began to numb.

"You could have stayed away from this house, this family," he continued, crouching next to her. "We don't need your filthy blood delving into our business."

"You're a half-blood," she croaked out.

Tom's face twisted with anger. "That man was not my Father. He was nothing."

"He-"

"He was nothing!" Riddle shouted, jabbing his wand into her throat. "And it's fitting really, for your dirty blood to be spilt in the same place as his."

"Your Mother will know," Hermione said, glaring at him and trying to ignore the weapon at her neck.

"I killed her husband and she did nothing - why would she care about a Mudblood? She's pathetic."

Hermione's eyes widened. "She knows?"

Tom let out a high-pitched laugh and smiled grimly. "As I said, pathetic."

He stood, raising his leg and landing a hard kick to her side. Hermione cried out, breath quickly leaving her body.

"Now, enough," Tom stated, bluntly, face falling into an emotionless mask. "I wouldn't have killed you, you know - for being a Mudblood. I would have made your life a living hell, certainly, but I wouldn't have killed you."

Hermione coughed weakly. "H-how charitable of you."

"Quite. You shouldn't have pried. Curiosity killed the cat."

He raised his wand and Hermione closed her eyes, waiting for the final strike. When it didn't come, she opened her eyes and saw Tom looking toward the door, his wand no longer in his hand. She turned her head to see what he was staring at.

Merope was standing in the doorway, wand held out in front of her. In her other hand, she held Tom's diary and the strange necklace she had seen in the mysterious room months ago.


	9. Chapter 9

_Tom squeezed his eyes shut before any tears could fall. His teeth were grit together in pain, causing his jawbone to jut from behind the skin of his face. The hissing was louder than ever here, it nearly deafened him as he approached the sinks. Their hideous song caused shooting pains to erupt around his skull and he begged them, over and over, to cease. The monsters were relentless this evening and Tom had yet to feel their power with such force. They willed him to come here, they forced him with the threat of never ceasing. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, one elbow smashing hard into the tiled floor. A low moan of pain left his mouth as he attempted to push himself up, only to fall once more, this time hitting his jaw against the rim of a basin. He rolled over and lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, tears now falling freely over his cheekbones._

_Through the cacophony of sibilant noises, a clear voice rang through._

" _Tom? Merlin, Tom, are you okay?"_

_Riddle could barely tilt his head to the side to see who was approaching, but soon Nott's concerned face swam into focus. "M-my head."_

_Nott frowned and gently took hold of his friend's shoulders. "It's alright, Tom. I'm going to get you out of here."_

" _No!" Riddle cried, as pain erupted around his temples. "H-have to find...w-what they want."_

" _What who want?" Theodore asked, leaning back as Tom shakily pushed himself onto his feet._

" _Voices," the other boy mumbled, lurching forward unsteadily._

_Nott ran toward him and placed an arm around his waist before he fell. He looped Tom's arm around his shoulder and propped him up, eyeing him with concern. Riddle had spoken of these voices before, briefly and barely, but he'd never thought much of it. In fact, the only time Tom mentioned them was after Nott enquired why he would quietly whisper 'Go away!' before bed every evening._

_Suddenly, Riddle flinched and turned his head, looking toward the set of sinks in the centre of the bathroom. Nott assisted him in walking him closer, confused as to what on Earth the other boy was doing. Tom stiffened, raising his arms to touch the rusted tap above the basin._

_Finally, silence. He sighed, every muscle in his body seeming to relax. Slowly, his hands caressed the faucet, eyes widening as he felt the serpentine crest beneath his fingertips._

" _Are you alright?" Theodore asked, quietly._

_Riddle turned to him, a manic grin rising on his face. "I've found it."_

* * *

__

Tom did not appeared stunned by his Mother's entrance and turned back to look at Hermione. There was still, for a moment, as the two examined each others' faces. Riddle's face was emotionless, blank, though his eyes shone brightly as if he were trying not to cry.

"She knows too much," he stated, bluntly. A red luster covered the clear blue of his gaze and suddenly he lurched forward, grasping Hermione's neck with both his hands. She let out a gurgle as his grip tightened, squeezing the air from her lungs. A murderous grin twisted his beauty into something grotesque and he began to chuckle as her hands scrabbled up to his wrists.

A purple charm collided with Riddle's left side, ripping him away from Hermione and sending him flying into the wall at the other end of the ballroom. As the motion carried him, he dug his nails into the soft skin of her throat, scraping off bloody ribbons when he was pulled away completely. Hermione sucked in a breath, wheezing as she clambered to her knees. A hand settled on her arm and pulled her up.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Merope asked, looking at her with concern. She attempted to respond, but found that her crushed throat could only produce inaudible scratches.

The older woman frowned and raised her wand. "Anapneo."

Slowly, the skin that had been forced inward began to recede and her airway began to clear. "T-thank you."

"Get out of here now," Merope ordered, voice firm and low. As she pulled Hermione up from the floor a burst of yellow light hit her side. The older woman buckled at the knees and let out a yell, clutching the area that the curse had hit. The diary skittered across the wooden floor toward the door and the necklace thudded hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Merope!" Hermione gasped, grasping the woman's arm to stop her from falling. Another spell shot past her eyes, only barely missing her nose. She turned on her heel, facing the direction of the curse.

Tom was leaning heavily against the mantlepiece, wand-arm raised toward the women. In his other hand he held a fire-poker. One half of his face was marred by lines of bright red blood, stemming from the open wound on his right temple. His bottom lip had split on one side, causing blood and saliva to drip freely from his mouth. Despite his wrecked appearance, the young man had not stopped smiling.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, panting.

As he pushed himself away from the mantle, he moved the fire-poker and let it clatter to the ground, letting out an anguished cry. Hermione could see that his left side had been punctured by the instrument - he must have been impaled on it as he fell from the air. The wound looked shallow but painful nonetheless. He hissed through gritted teeth and raised his wand. Merope stood up straight and raised her wand to match her son's position. Tom cocked his head to one side as a crackling burst of light shot from his wand toward the two women. Merope pushed Hermione to one side and sliced her wand through the air, creating a murky green shield around herself. Tom's spell seemed to be absorbed by the protective shield and soon the crackling electric curse dissipated. The two Riddles stared one another down, their bright eyes in matching glares.

Hermione turned away from them as they began to send un-ending streams of powerful curses at one another. She couldn't allow herself to sit idly by and watch - she needed to find her wand. When she pushed herself off the floor she noticed the diary a few steps away and stooped to pick it up as she ran. Her wand lay in the corner of the ballroom next to the entrance.

"Tom, stop this now!" Merope's shrill voice rang out from behind her. A loud crash resounded across the room and another window shattered somewhere to her left.

"You can't let her leave, Mother!" he shouted, voice cracking wildly.

Hermione grabbed her wand and span around, still clutching the diary close to her chest. Tom and Merope were dueling fiercely, their motions graceful even still. The spells flew too fast to determine the caster and Hermione saw no way of entering the fight without skewing the balance. A bright yellow curse slammed into the ceiling and caused the plaster holding up the ornate chandelier to crack. The large crystal fixture creaked loudly and began to fall from its position, lights flickering off.

"Watch out!" Hermione shouted, voice nearly inaudible over the crashing din of flying curses. She thrust her wand forward to attempt to slow the rapidly descending chandelier but it was too much force for her to withstand in such a short amount of time. It crashed loudly in between the two Riddles, both of whom conjured shields around themselves as the crystal shattered across the room. It was Tom who reacted first, lowering his shield so he could cast a hurried charm in front of him. The broken glass that lay at his feet floated gently off the floor and, for a moment, sparkled brightly in the remaining candlelight like stilled raindrops. A second later, he flicked his wand forward and gave a grunt of exertion.

"No, no-" Hermione exclaimed, casting a shield around her body. She knew it wouldn't withstand that amount of force and began to run, eventually ducking out of the doorway to the ballroom. As she leaned back against the wall beside the edge of the doorframe, thousands of shards of glass burst out of the door and into the hallway. The jagged pieces stabbed into the wooden floor and around the walls of the corridor, though Hermione herself was safe, protected behind the doorframe. When the shards came to a still, she pushed herself back onto her exhausted feet and turned into the ballroom, searching desperately for Merope.

Before she could turn fully, a hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her back. As she screamed, from the shock a wave of heat rushed behind her. Hermione let out a yell as her shoulders began to burn. She looked up to see the person who had grabbed her was Lupin, looking disheveled as ever. He pulled her into his chest with one arm and slashed his wand forward with the other, creating a shield around them. Fire swirled down the corridor, orange flames spilling from the open doorway.

"Little help?" Lupin shouted, over the roar of the flames.

Hermione nodded and turned around, making sure not to step out of the protection of the shield. She chanted an incantation and flicked her wand in a short pattern. A blue charm pulsed out of the end of the wand and engulfed the flames, cooling them instantly. It span out of the corridor, through the doorway and smashed into the source of the fire, snuffing it out. Lupin and Hermione pushed themselves away from the doorframe and stood on opposite sides of the corridor, both with wands raised at their chests. There was silence from the other side of the doorway.

"Are you okay?" Lupin asked, quietly. "I got your message."

"I'm fine," she replied, wincing slightly. The fire had scorched through the back of her clothes and licked the first few layers of her skin. "Thank you for coming. There's something seriously wrong here, I need to speak to Dumbledore."

"Explain later. Come on, we need to get out of here," he said, jerking his head to the side.

"I need to get Merope. Wait here, I'll need you to back me up if things go wrong," Hermione stated. She took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, keeping her wand steady in one hand and the diary in the other. Slowly, she stepped around the safety of the doorframe and re-entered the ballroom.

The older woman lay crumpled to the left of the chandelier. Even from the other side of the room, Hermione could see blood beginning to pool around her body. Tom was standing over her, panting heavily. He dropped to his knees and raised a hand to ruffle through his dark hair. With a loud hiss of pain, he clutched his bloody side.

"I hate you, Mother," he murmured, voice cracking due to the pain shooting up his side. He wrenched the woman over onto her back and stared blankly at her shredded face. The boy didn't seem to notice Hermione, so stayed very still for fear of attracting his attention. He laid a hand on Merope's face with a strange gentleness. "You're not worthy to be a descendant of Slytherin."

Merope spluttered and, with great pain, reached up to touch his hand with hers. Hermione felt the diary fly from between her fingers toward the pair and held herself back from running after it. The book dropped just in front of them, drawing Tom's attention away from his Mother. He frowned, looking down at it, then back to Merope. The hand on her cheek moved down to her throat, where it rested softly.

"It's time to go now, Mother," he said, calmly. "I have so much to do."

She smiled at him. A long stream of blood poured down the side of her face when she opened her mouth. Hermione couldn't hear what she said, but she saw the first flickers of green fire erupt around the Mother and Son. She jumped back and turned away, fleeing quickly to the door.

"Run!" she screamed, as she passed Lupin. "Fiendfyre!"

The pair sprinted down the corridor, the bright green flames bursting from the ballroom hot on their heels. The din that roared behind them was deafening - a mixture of walls crumbling, fire crackling and the tortured screams of a boy. Lupin grabbed hold of Hermione's shoulder as they turned out of the sprawling labyrinth of hallways into the entrance hall. The familiar pressure squeezing her body told her that he had pulled her into Apparition. They reappeared outside the Manor, sprawling on the floor halfway down the main lawn. For a moment, Hermione stilled to catch her breath, relieved to feel the cool, damp grass beneath her hands.

"Hermione!" Lupin called.

She turned her head and saw her friend scrambling to his feet. Quickly, she pushed herself into a standing position and rushed to his side. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, you?" he answered, panting. A large black burn was still smoking on his shoulder.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. She flicked her wand to the side and a sliver of white light burst from the end. A silvery otter slid in front of her. "Find Dumbledore."

"What the hell was that?" Lupin exclaimed, gesturing in the direction of the Manor.

Hermione looked away from the retreating Patronus. The mansion was already half collapsed and the green flames showed no sign of slowing. The strangled screams had been silenced, but the sound of concrete falling and wood cracking continued loudly. The grounds were illuminated by the Fiendfyre, painted with an emerald hue. Even the sky above seemed to have brightened to a sickly green. Hermione took in a deep breath and let it out shakily.

"What's a horcrux?" she asked, unable to draw her gaze away from the crumbling building.

"A horcrux?" Lupin repeated, confused. His brow furrowed. "So that's why Fiendfyre-"

"Lupin, please," Hermione rasped, swallowing thickly. Her throat ached from the pressure Tom had put on it. Now they had slowed, the pain she had been ignoring was growing unbearable. "Tell me."

"A piece of soul, ripped from the body and placed into an article. It means if the body is destroyed, the piece of soul is preserved," he explained, quietly. "It grants-"

"Immortality," she finished. The memory of Thomas Riddle Snr's bloody face filled her mind.

"Quite," Lupin replied. "It is one of the darkest forms of magic, Hermione. It requires another life to be taken in the process. Not something to mess with."

"That's what Riddle was doing," she said, her voice hollow. "He was making horcruxes."

"Merope must have known," Lupin stated. Hermione glanced at him to see a hardened expression on his face. "That's why she took him out of school. That's why she used Fiendfyre."

"What do you mean?" she asked, weakly.

"They are few ways to destroy a horcrux. Fiendfyre is one of them."

Hermione nodded and turned her head back to the Manor. The wall facing the collapsed on itself, sending bricks and plaster skittering down the lawn. With her body aching and her mind full of sickening images, the woman bent over double and lost her guts on the ground below.

 


	10. End.

It was morning by the time the Fiendfyre has finished its consumption of Riddle Manor and finally flickered out. Sometime in the early hours, Dumbledore and a number of Aurors had arrived to control the flames. A few headed into the local village to clear the memories of the burning mansion of the Muggles who settled there. Hermione sat on the rocky wall that surrounded the family chapel, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring vacantly at the crumbling structure. Dumbledore and Lupin were speaking quietly to one another a few metres away. She could vaguely hear their conversation, but the memories replaying in her mind overpowered their soft voices. How narrowly she had avoided death. She drew in a deep breath and grunted. Her chest ached from the acrid fumes that had been stagnating in the air for hours. Bruises from Tom's fingers were beginning to bloom on her neck. How lucky she had been.

_Hermione._

The boy and his horcruxes had caused so much destruction, she thought, there was nothing left of this family, nothing left of their home. Merope was far too forgiving to her son. That, or she had been forcing herself into blindness for the sake of keeping him alive. Hermione suspected it was the latter - the older woman loved Tom, she wouldn't have wanted to lose him. The crackling of wood had quietened to a gentle creak. It was a cold morning, a thick fog had settled over the valley and blocked much of the scene from her vision. Her head felt too full. Hermione stood slowly, pulling the blanket closer around her chest.

_Miss Granger._

A high pitched noise began to ring in her ears. She stumbled forward, feet sinking into the dewed-soaked grass. It felt as if something else was urging her tired body forward. There was a thick layer of ash over the ground, turning the once-beautiful lawn into a foul bog of thick, black mud. The woman raised her head and looked out over the ruins as she stepped over what had once been the front door. Using memory, she retraced her steps and found the pile of rubble that had once been the ballroom. Pieces of shimmering crystal still shone brightly from underneath the ash, the remains of the grand chandelier. She approached a large pile of the sparkling glass, eyeing it carefully.

_Hello._

A soft voice called to her through the ringing. Hermione dropped to her knees next to the glass, ignoring the sharp pain as the shards dug into her skin. She blinked and shook her head vigorously, trying to get rid of the haze that was fogged her mind.

"What am I doing?"

_Do you still want to know how to violate Gamp's Law?_

Hermione looked into the crystal and saw dozens of her own, wide eyes reflected back. "I-"

_You're powerful for a Mudblood._

The eyes that looked back were not hers. She reached forward and pushed her hand into the shards. The high-pitched noise in her ears had grown unbearably loud. Her eyes were transfixed on the way her blood spurted out of the small punctures in her skin.

_I could use you, Hermione._

Her fingers hit something smooth amongst the jagged glass. The noise crescendoed. Her nose began to bleed.

_Stay by my side._

With great pain, she dragged her hand out of the crystal, fingers wrapped around a small object.

_We could be unstoppable._

She opened her hand and looked down. In the centre of her palm, covered in ash and clotted blood, was Merope's wedding ring. The noise quieted to silence.

" _Hermione,"_ the voice called.

She turned her head. Tom stared back, or rather what was left of him. The upper half of the left side of his face was covered in a thick burgundy crust, parts of which still seem to be smoking. The majority of his clothes were intact, but dirtied by ash and stained with blood on the side where the fire poker had impaled him. His lovely blue eyes were still beautiful, set perfectly in his grime-covered face.

"How are you here?" she whispered. Part of her brain told her to run, but the haze clouding her mind tempted her to stay.

" _Take me home,"_ he murmured, reaching a hand up to her cheek. His fingers felt strange - not quite solid, but definitely present. The sensation was like cool water sliding over her skin. It felt pleasant, calming. " _Don't tell them you can see me."_

"Who?" she asked, weakly.

He smiled slowly. " _All of them."_

Hermione nodded, transfixed by the smoke that seemed to endlessly pour from his forehead.

"Hermione?" a clear voice called. The woman jolted upright and tightened her fist around the ring. She drew the blanket around her, balling the fabric around her fists so it completely covered her torso and shielded her bloody hand. Lupin stood a few feet away and was watching her with a look of concern.

"You okay?" he asked, in a worried tone.

Tom raised his finger to his lips and winked at her. Hermione turned to face Lupin and gave him an exhausted smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered, walking back toward him. Tom fell in silent step beside her. "I just want to get away from here now. I really need to sleep."

Hermione walked past Lupin, who turned to face her as she retreated toward the chapel. "Hermione?"

She turned back to look at him. He frowned.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

Her fingers tightened around the ring that sat cold in her palm. She opened her mouth to tell her friend the truth, but Tom's alluring presence by her side overwhelmed her thoughts. With outward calm, but inner turmoil, she nodded.

"Everything's fine."


End file.
